


The Great Art of Life Is Sensation

by evening_spirit



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Empathy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is an empath trained by a military organization. Jared is his mission's target. Will Jensen's strict training help him resist the pull that is J-squared?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first written over three years ago and after a period of regular updates, left "on hiatus". One of my New Year resolutions for 2012 was to finish it ... by the end of February. I finished writing in that time :), but there was still some beta work to be done. Now, it's finally posted complete.
> 
> The second half probably wouldn't see the light of day, if not for **1orelei** , who never pushed me to anything, but was incredibly supportive whenever I asked her to. THANK YOU! You are the best. :)
> 
> Beta'ed by amazingly patient **bigj52**. *lovez*
> 
> Oh, I was posting it in one big chunk, so if there are some errors, I dunno, chapters repeated twice, or whatever, let me know.  
> The numbering of chapters is different than in LJ, because AO3 doesn't let me make the "Prologue" *pouts*

  


banner by **1orelei**

[  
](http://i136.photobucket.com/albums/q198/o_yannik/spn/banners/banner7.jpg)

_The great art of life is sensation -- to feel that we exist, even in pain_  
~Lord Byron

  


________________________  
~

**Prologue**

“Your mission is to infiltrate the structure of Morgan’s Group. To get inside to the very core, gather information, learn their objectives. Gain their trust. Become Morgan’s right hand man and best friend. And allow us to blow the whole thing from the inside. That’s a brief. Can you do it, J?”

Straight as an oak tree, tall and broad, Colonel Warner stood in front of a younger man dressed in a uniform without distinctions. Eric shot a glance at the boy under his supervision and smiled with pride.

“Of course he can do it, Colonel.” His usual embarrassment forgotten, the psychiatrist praised his favorite trainee. “He’s an empath, he can manipulate you and you wouldn’t even notice.”

The Colonel gazed at Eric as if he was an annoying bug.

“He can’t manipulate me, Doctor Kripke,” he stated stiffly, looking through the shorter man, not at him, and Eric shivered. He was afraid of them, he remembered. Of all the military people. He was only a mere scientist here, and not of huge importance either. Actually of no importance at all; he only worked with a bunch of empaths in the facility that trained almost a hundred super-soldiers. And empaths weren’t even all that vital; they only served as recon tools.

Sometimes Eric wished he could do something to piss off the Colonel and the likes of his. Or do more harm. But he had no idea how and he was afraid, plain and simple.

The Colonel ignored him afterward. Turned to J, informed him that Captain Harris had the details of his mission and ordered to report to her.

“Dismissed!”

“Yes, sir!’

J saluted, turned around and left the Colonel’s office in a firm gait. Eric trotted behind him, trying to catch up. Once in the corridor J slowed though, and cast a glance at his tutor. Of course. Eric didn’t need to tell him he wanted to talk; J knew that, but he also knew he should wait for Eric to start the conversation.

They passed a couple of enlisted, some officer, the door to the office of some other commander, all of it under the scrutinizing cyclopic eyes of the cameras. On their way to Captain Harris they would be passing the courtyard though and there -- no one would look or listen, at least not too close. Eric was hoping that J knew he was waiting for the right moment. No, scratch that, he was _not_ hoping. While Eric understood his empaths without a word -- they could read him like an open book.

He walked through the door and felt a cold breeze on his cheeks. Slowed down even more. Only ten steps and so much to convey

“It’s a deep cover op,” the psychiatrist started hastily. “You won’t be able to return here for psych evaluation like you’re used to. You may become overwhelmed--”

“I’ll be alright, Eric.” J smiled like a parent to a scared child. “I know how to deal with my emotions.”

“You’ve been trained to deal alright.” Eric stopped altogether, scanning their surroundings. He needed to make sure J understood the severity of the situation; grabbed the younger man’s elbow and forced them face to face. Whispered, “Emotions can get unpredictable, though. All I’m saying is that my family lives in Vancouver. In your notebook there’s a name, MacKenzie, that’s my cousin. If you’re in trouble call her, and she’ll get in touch with me. Then I’ll find the way to help you. Okay?”

J looked him in the eyes with a serious expression. “There’s nothing about it in the orders from the Headquarters.”

“Because they keep ignoring my opinions!” Eric was getting frustrated. He thought his boys trusted him, but the truth was -- he trained them to make friends with no one. To only believe in one goal: the orders from the Headquarters. “J--” Eric laid a hand on the boy’s forearm.

“I know, Eric.” J smiled lightly. He knew his tutor’s feelings, probably better than Erick knew them himself. “But you shouldn’t be doing that. And I will include the information you just gave me in my first report--”

“No!--”

“You know I have to.”

“No.” Now Eric was really scared and he didn’t need J’s suddenly concerned face to be aware of that. “Listen to me J. You know I’m not preparing a diversion or anything here, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“You know. I’m only doing this because I care about you. I. Care. About. You. They don’t. They care for the mission. But hey, here? It’s the same thing for once. Because if you start to crack, the mission goes south. Do you understand that?” Eric waited for J to nod then continued. “But they wouldn’t listen to me. And if you tell them? Then I’m in trouble. And MacKenzie too, probably. I can’t let her get hurt. But I need this safety net for you as well. So what am I supposed to do, huh?”

“I don’t need a safety net.”

“Fine. Then you will not contact her at all. That’s great. So why do Headquarters need to know that, anyway?”

J sighed and shook his head. “Fine. You got it. Now let’s move, before they think it’s weird that we’re talking in the middle of the yard.”

Eric shot a glance at the glassy walls surrounding them. There were cameras overlooking the yard behind the windows, there were mikes in the walls too, that probably overheard parts of this conversation. Specialists could make out everything that was said if they wanted, and if they did, Eric was fucked. But still this was the safest moment and place he could think of; he regretted not being a strategist. He had not been left alone with J in a plain setting since this mission had been assigned, and he knew of all the dangers his boy would be facing. And he would risk much more than that to help him. J was his favorite, he couldn’t deny it.

The tall young man was on the other side of the yard already, opening the door and looking back at the psychiatrist questioningly, his green eyes squinting.

Eric shrugged and followed him in. In complete silence they reached the briefing room and Captain Danneel Harris therein. She stood at the far end of the room, behind the table full of maps, photographs, documents, a suitcase on the side and some civilian cloths. The red haired woman dressed in a blue lab-coat stared at some file through her thick-rimmed glasses. She looked up hearing them enter.

J stood at attention and saluted, Eric more or less copied his movement, from sheer sense of intimidation rather than duty. He was _not_ military; he never would be.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in your lab?” Captain Harris took off her glasses and scrutinized the doctor.

“No, I’m not,” Eric squeaked. He really-truly meant to sound more self-assured.

Danneel shrugged, put her glasses back on, returned to her document and murmured, “At ease,” to her subordinate. “Come near.” She motioned him in.

J approached her and Eric followed closely behind.

“Your alias is Jensen Ackles.” The Captain handed J some documents without further ado. “You are from the Canadian North-Western Territory, around MacKenzie river.” J didn’t even blink at the name, but Eric’s heart started thumping like it wanted to escape his ribcage. Breathe, breathe, easy. Danneel handed J a small pamphlet containing pictures and information on the region. “Read through that folder on your plane to Seattle, then destroy it.” She proceeded giving him photographs. “These are your parents, Alan and Donna. They were killed during the war. You may want to avenge them. Or not. That will depend on what would suit the situation best, you will adjust your alias’s actions and priorities accordingly.”

Danneel eyed the empath wanting to make sure he understood everything and J nodded. Eric could not believe they could still distrust his boys; they could still think the empaths weren’t capable of comprehending simple orders, after so many successful missions.

“The operation is divided in three phases. Phase one with a deadline in maximum three days, phase two -- in two weeks from now, phase three -- in two months from now. If the goal of the phase is not met within the estimated time, your orders are to return to the base.

“Phase one goal is getting to Vancouver. I personally think you should be able to get there in much shorter time. You meet our man at the airport in Seattle and he transfers you through the border. He’s experienced, and everything should go smoothly, three days span is a precaution in case of unexpected complications.

“Phase two objective is entering the Group. You have an entry and I’ll give you details about him in a moment. We will maintain contact with you in those two weeks through one of our agents planted in Vancouver; he’ll contact you within the first few days of your stay there. If you can’t be a member of the Group within two weeks from this day, you return here, understood?” J nodded again.

“In the third phase you’re pretty much on your own. We weren’t able to infiltrate the Group further than finding its common members and we do not know anything beside the name of their leader, Morgan. We don’t know the structure, the chain of command, responsibilities. Nothing. But the Headquarters still expect you to find your way to the very top.” Eric knew she did not believe J was capable of achieving that. And if Eric was aware of her doubts, what was to say about how J was feeling it.

“So, I don’t have any detailed information for the third phase, but here’s your objective for the second phase.” She handed J a photograph of a smiling young man. A silly thing and one more of those Eric often pointed to them and was ignored. Empaths were simply incapable of recognizing faces from the photographs. They were incapable of recognizing faces, period; they sensed minds.

He saw J’s concentration as the young man was struggling to memorize the features.

“That’s Jared Padalecki.” Harris gazed at the empath doubtfully. “Memorize him well, because the photograph cannot leave these walls. The man’s psych profile reveals he’s gay, likes to enjoy himself and can be met almost every night at this pub in downtown Vancouver.” Another bunch of photographs, this time of a building, so at least easier to memorize, were handed to J. “Crash, it is called.” Danneel shook her head with disgust. “Padalecki apparently likes the atmosphere in there. We have uncovered a few members of Morgan's Group, but this one, due to his inclinations and activities, is the easiest target for our purposes. If you play it well, in less than two weeks he will beg you to join the Group. Do you think your empathic skills can help with that?"

"I'm supposed to manipulate him-- How?" J wasn't certain.

Eric thought the way Captain Harris briefed him on this mission was really improper. Too much of her own prejudice toward empaths and toward people in general.

She smiled smugly. "You're supposed to make him fall in love with you."


	2. Chapter 2

The transfer went by smoothly and J -- Jensen, he had to start thinking about himself as Jensen -- was on the job in less than twenty hours from the moment he was dismissed from the briefing room.  
  
On the plane he read all about the North-Western Territories, and thought that if he could talk with a person who actually lived there, he wouldn’t need more than five minutes to understand what it was like. Words written on paper carried no meaning. Same with a few fabricated childhood stories about Donna and Alan Ackles, or how they died, or what it meant for him. But the worst was the psychological profile of Jared Padalecki. He was supposed to work on that man, but wasn’t even able to get through one paragraph of the dissertation.  
  
Frustrated, he put it off and didn’t look into it for the remainder of the flight. At the airport he packed all folders together and burned them in a toilet trash bin. The paper caught and disintegrated within seconds, before the smoke detectors were even alerted.  
  
Then he met Chris Kane, his driver. Chris was a nice, talkative guy. After shaking his hand Jensen knew the man was loyal. Before they found his truck, he knew Chris was also reckless and forgetful. Just for kicks Jensen had him stop at the bar on the side of the road, where they had a beer each and talked about life before the war. Chris was a teenager when it started and emerged as a damaged grown up on the other side. His life would be very different if the war had never happened; the job of a truck driver on the siege did not suit him.  
  
They waited in the queue at the border for four hours, and Jensen slept; he needed to regenerate at least a little. When they arrived in Vancouver, Chris dropped him off near the train station, giving him directions on how to reach the destination district. It was early afternoon when Jensen was settled in his small flat and ready to go. It was late afternoon when he smiled at the bodyguard at the club -- an ex-cop with two kids and a divorced wife -- and entered without paying a single cent. He didn’t have to do that, he had the entry card, but he liked to warm up his skills before the mission. Still, manipulating a guy into letting him to the club was a piece of cake compared to evoking true love.  
  
Jared Padalecki.  
  
Jensen, by no means, could recall the guy’s face. But the description said he was ridiculously tall, at least three inches taller than Jensen. That disqualified about 95% of the people in the club. Easy.  
  
There was someone really large leaning on the bar. Jensen focused on him; the guy had dark curly hair and a wide smile and was merrily chatting with another man next to him. That one was a pent up ball of energy. Jensen could tell he was watching other consumers, searching for something indefinable.  
  
The club wasn’t crowded, probably wouldn’t be until much later. Most of the tables were empty, some two guys were playing pool. Jensen could sense laziness, with a hint of anticipation in the air. The music was fairly loud, but rhythmic and pleasant to the ear, and didn’t compete with the murmur of people’s voices.  
  
He found himself at the bar, next to the tall guy. Gazed to the side and met steely gray eyes of that other one, questioning.  
  
“Beer,” Jensen said to the cute barman, who wanted to ask what he would drink. Strange, he was already attracted to boys and that large one next to him was truly appealing. But the gray eyes of his companion bore holes in the side of Jensen’s face and Jensen knew he had to face up to him first. If his tall companion was Jared Padalecki, he would have to stomp over a challenging opponent.  
  
But Jensen liked a good challenge; he turned to the man and smiled. “Hi!”  
  
“Hello.” The guy squinted, cautiously. The taller one turned and assessed Jensen with his bright blue eyes, only now noticing his presence. He had nice, easy smile. Full lips. Faces, Jensen remembered, watch the faces. Not that it would be of any use, but that’s how the empaths were usually instructed. After all how would he describe someone’s boyish naiveté to his superiors?  
  
“Name’s Jensen.” Jensen extended his hand in a friendly gesture.  
  
The taller guy held it in a slightly sweaty grip. “Tom.” Then motioned to his companion. “This is Mike.” Mike grabbed Jensen’s palm. His hand-shake was firm. His face was long, hair cut very short. Tom and Mike. Neither of them was his target then. Still, he could use them; the probability of them knowing Padalecki was not negligible.  
  
“You new around here?” Mike asked, barely opening his thin lips. His voice was clearly audible, though, despite of the noise. The music had changed, it was louder now too.  
  
“How did you guess?” Jensen smirked, taking his beer and handing the barman a coin.  
  
“Had the gist.”  
  
“Where are you from?” Tom was much friendlier. Tom was also immature and gullible. Too bad he was not Padalecki; he would be an easy target, despite Mike’s hovering around. Still, having those two on his side made sense. Jensen looked around at all the people: sitting, walking, playing pool. Some dancing in the rhythm of the hypnotic music that started playing. There was no way he could find Padalecki on his own in this crowd. Besides the large number of people, their variety of feelings and sensations, started to make him feel like his brain was scattered all over the place. He needed to focus, one goal, one task at a time.  
  
He looked back at the two men next to him. Tom, he could have in line in no time, Mike though, Mike could be tricky. Jensen wasn’t sure of his nature yet. He seemed confident and composed, but there was this dangerous energy simmering underneath.  
  
Tom wanted to know where Jensen came from.  
  
“Up north,” Jensen said eventually, holding Mike’s intense gray gaze.  
  
“Must be cold up there?”  
  
“It is,” Jensen responded lazily. “This is why I came here. I like it hot.” He grinned. Girls were falling for that grin, he wondered if boys would too.  
  
Mike’s reaction was both startling and much telling to Jensen. He burst out with loud, obnoxious laughter and his eyes glittered. “Hot, he says!” Mike dropped his mask and his personality was loud and clear to Jensen now -- wild, crazy, striving for excitement. He obviously thought he found a potential partner to do some mad stuff.  
  
Jensen could be that. He could be anything. At least as long as he needed Mike to help him find Jared Padalecki.  
  
***  
  
Jared was pissed. And tired. And he had enough of Jeff’s whining.  
  
When he arrived at Crash the music was already playing and Mike Rosenbaum was grinning like he caught the lion by the balls. Knowing Mike, it was going to be one messy evening. Jared had the urge to turn tails and vanish, but Rosenbaum spotted him on the stairs, bellowed “Jay!” and squeezed through the crowd.  
  
“Was afraid you wouldn’t make it!” His arm enclosed Jared’s waist, and his grinning face looked like a broken egg. Jared had never really liked him. “We found somethin’ for you. Me and Tom, I mean. Real precious, babe.” He pulled Jared down and deeper into the crowd, and Jared thought his dislike had to originate in Mike’s relationship with Tom Welling. Mike was wrong for Tom. Or maybe Jared simply had a headache.  
  
The music was pulsing, colorful lights swirling.  
  
“Mike,” Jared sighed. “ ‘m not really in the mood. Just wanna get wasted.”  
  
“What’s wrong with getting wasted under a gorgeous body? Or on top of it.” His hand on Jared’s chest held him in place. Then this hand gestured toward the dance floor. “Just look!”  
  
Jared looked. Tom’s tall frame was catching the eye, as always. But it was the person next to him that dragged the attention. The man was only a little shorter, but next to Tom he appeared almost petite. He was well built though and moved with cat-like grace. In the blinking lights Jared could make out their hips, brushing against each other; the stranger’s left arm rested casually on Tom’s shoulder and his head leaned toward Tom’s. Jared could swear the tall lad drank the sight in front of him like a man starving to death. He was licking his lips too, and Jared wondered if Mike would mutilate the stranger, had they kissed.  
  
And a shame it would be. Jared caught a glimpse of the stranger’s face and it was a beauty. Full lips, nicely shaped jaw and sparkling eyes, staring at Tom with intensity Jared had never seen in anyone. Maybe in Jeff, sometimes, when the boss got worked up over all his high morals. But not in a casual dance situation.  
  
The sudden desire to get close with this guy unsettled him. True, Mike had said they -- he and Tom -- got this beauty for him, but Jared really wasn’t in the mood.  
  
“You want Tom back?” he turned to Mike hesitantly.  
  
“Not sure,” Rosenbaum licked his lips nervously, not taking his eyes off of the couple. “I might just want the both of them.”  
  
Jared felt sick to the stomach. Seriously, leaving the stranger in Rosenbaum’s and Welling’s mercy would be cruel. Or rather leaving the stranger and Tom in Rosenbaum’s mercy. But that was exactly what Jared was intending to do; why the hell would he care anyway? But then he caught the gaze of those intense eyes above Tom’s shoulder and instead of going away, he moved forward. Shrugged off his jacket and threw it to Rosenbaum, not even checking if it was caught. Stopped behind Welling’s back and laid a hand on the dark-haired man’s shoulder.  
  
“Your boyfriend is waiting,” he said forcefully to Tom’s confused eyes and gaping mouth. Then turned to the beauty that would be his.  
  
“Jay,” Tom murmured. “Hi.”  
  
The stranger’s eyes darted from Tom to Jared, but Jared pushed Tom out of the way and out of his mind.  
  
“Jay?” the stranger asked.  
  
“That’s my name.” Jared grinned. That was how friends called him.  
  
A baffling look altered the stranger’s features for a blink of an eye; a mixture of amusement and disappointment. Then he scanned the room briefly, focused on Jared’s face and smiled. And he had the loveliest smile Jared had ever seen.  
  
“ ‘s mine too,” he said. “Is how my family calls me.”  
  
Jared thought that if he grinned any wider his head would split. Two J’s -- that was awesome.  
  
“Can I have this dance?”  
  
***  
  
J, what a coincidence. He had no idea there really were names like that! His was more a designation than a name, and he shouldn’t have revealed it. At least his alias’s name started with a “J”.  
  
It was irrelevant, though -- Jensen remembered. He had enough of warming up; needed the real deal. Tom and Mike were his, he could bet on that and he didn’t need one more lad pining for him.  
  
He purposefully ignored J, but the more he tried to pretend disinterest, the more craving radiated from the other man. So this was not the way to discourage him. Jensen knew that making someone lose interest in him was as easy as making them fall for him; all he needed was the right button.  
  
So, what would tick this one off? Not going after him, not at this point. Jensen looked into J’s eyes and he knew that if he started being all clingy suddenly, the guy would think he’d won and might only get more aroused. It would take effect in the morning -- the distaste in a one-night-stand -- but Jensen didn’t need to get him off his hat by morning; he needed to have it done now. He needed to focus on his job, and so far he didn’t get any closer to finding his target. Tom and Mike weren’t as helpful as he’d hoped and he needed another tactic. But first he needed to be free of their presence. He needed something effective and quick.  
  
The immediate reaction. The immediate emotion that was driving this guy.  
  
Anger.  
  
Underneath all else, J was really pissed off at something.  
  
“Who stomped on your toe, Goliath?” Jensen said clearly and bluntly, staring up at the man.  
  
J furrowed his brow, trying to make out the words in the overwhelming noise. He did make them out and stopped moving. Jensen sensed that he didn’t want to be reminded about the unpleasant afternoon; shrugged, attempted to smile and shook his head.  
  
“Never mind,” said.  
  
“Oh, c’mon. You’re not focusing on what you’re doing.” Jensen challenged. “A boyfriend?” he risked. No, wrong. “Daddy?”  
  
“He’s not my father!” J seethed.  
  
“Oh, don’t tall me your old man wasn’t pleased with you coming here,” Jensen mocked.  
  
J was annoyed and exasperated. This was not about that, Jensen was a little off the mark with his guessing, but it did not matter. He was close to achieving his goal. The fight or flight reaction was all he needed to induce in J’s head. Tilted toward the flight a bit more.  
  
Jensen smirked. One little push and it would tip over, “My, he really got under your skin.”  
  
“I need a drink.” J left him in the middle of the dance floor.  
  
Mission accomplished.  
  
Unfortunately Mike and Tom were all over Jensen the very next second.  
  
“What happened to Jared?” Mike asked and Jensen felt the ground under his feet sway with the music and his own stupidity.  
  
Jared? J was a short form Jared? The guy was tall alright -- Jensen noticed, too late. The description fitted.


	3. Chapter 3

Jensen couldn’t believe this. Such a rookie mistake! And why? Because of his selective blindness to people’s appearances. He was looking up at Tom and then it felt natural looking up at J as well. And of course both Tom and J felt it natural that people were looking up at them. So it didn’t occur to Jensen that J was actually _a few inches taller_ than him.  
  
But still he should have asked J’s full name before jumping to conclusions. But how was he supposed to know this was _not_ his full name?  
  
Oh, whatever! What happened-happened. Now Jensen needed to find the way to turn this around. A total one-eighty. Damn, human feelings weren’t that elastic; he risked destabilizing his target! Jensen wanted to punch himself. He could leave and come again tomorrow, but there was no guarantee that Padalecki would be here again. No, this was not an option either.  
  
He decided to follow Mike and Tom and just hang near the three of them, hoping to find an opening. A moment of Padalecki’s vulnerability, susceptibility to manipulation.  
  
***  
  
Jared didn’t need to be reminded about Jeff’s thousand problems. Not at the gay club, late in the evening and definitely not by the prettiest man in twenty hundred miles radius. He downed three quick shots of plain vodka before Rosenbaum jumped him.  
  
“You don’t like our prey?”  
  
“He’s annoying.” Jared seethed, while in reality he thought Jeff was annoying. The J-boy was pretty. And he deserved better than him right now. But what he deserved was not a threesome with Rosenbaum and Welling, and Jared saw a foreshadowing of just that in Mike’s steely-gray eyes. Why did it have to be so messed up? Why couldn’t he meet this guy when he wasn’t so over his head in Jeff’s problems?  
  
The pretty neared them, and stopped between Tom and Mike, not looking at anyone in particular.  
  
“Jensen!” Rosenbaum yelled at him and the guy looked up. So, J was for Jensen. Cute name, if a little odd. “What did you do to Jared?”  
  
Jensen’s eyes moved slowly across Jared’s chest and up to his face, unsure.  
  
“Here!” A shot of vodka was forced into the guy’s hand, another into Tom’s and Mike downed the third one. “Bottoms up! Jared you too.”  
  
Jared downed his, Tom followed suit and Jensen hesitated, sighed, and gulped as well.  
  
Rosenbaum made sure they all had a few more and dragged them back to the dance floor.  
  
The music was wild, its pulse made Jared’s heart race, his face burned with the overload of alcohol and Tom’s sweating body next to him gave him a startling kick. He used to be with Tom. It had been a few years back and some of that affection still lingered. Tom was a big baby and evoked something protective in Jared. Jeff had managed to bring up that protective side as well today -- however frustrating it was -- and it didn’t go completely back under all the carelessness and playfulness he preferred to display in front of those people. Especially Rosenbaum.  
  
Rosenbaum was licking Jensen’s ear and unbuttoning his shirt. Tom, next to Jared, giggled like a little girl. Jensen looked sideways at Jared from under his long eyelashes and his palm slid down Mike’s body to grip his ass in a way that made Rosenbaum jolt, look up and stop the unbuttoning for a moment.  
  
Jensen licked his lips in such a sexy way that Jared could see Rosenbaum cock jumping to attention.  
  
Tom giggled again.  
  
The music still pumped, the heat of the bodies next to them was hypnotizing, the smell of the bodies filled Jared’s mouth -- he could almost taste it, the salt of sweat on the back of his throat.  
  
Jensen’s fingers were working on Mike’s buttons. Mike tried to shake them off, push them away and Jared felt a hint of evil satisfaction. Rosenbaum wanted to be in charge, always leading people, very often to their humiliation. But this guy seamlessly took over; leaned in and softly brushed Mike’s lips with his.  
  
Tom stopped moving and stared at the two of them, transfixed.  
  
Jensen used one of his hands to unbutton Mike’s shirt, the other to do the same with his own. Like in the mirror. Rosenbaum followed his lead.  
  
Rosenbaum followed his lead! Jared nearly stopped moving himself, so unsettling was that thought. Rosenbaum was always _in the lead_.  
  
Tom stepped in and saved his boyfriend’s sorry ass a moment before Jensen managed to strip the egg-headed perv. Rosenbaum looked like he’d been spellbound and suddenly awoken, when instead of a perfectly gorgeous body in front of him he had a huge and -- well, perfect too -- body of his lover.  
  
And Jensen’s hands stroked Tom’s back.  
  
But then suddenly dropped just a moment before Jared thought, “no, not Tom”.  
  
Jensen’s eyes caught Jared’s from behind Tom’s broad shoulders and he wiggled his brow as if asking, “What’cha gonna do about it?”  
  
“Fuck!” Rosenbaum yelled. “I need a drink.” He grabbed Tom, hooked his other arm around Jared’s neck and pulled them both to the bar.  
  
Jared shot a glance behind his back at Jensen grinning in the middle of the dance floor. Soon obscured by other bodies pulsing in the rhythm.  
  
Mike downed three shots, yelped and run toward the tables. He was on top of the first one before Jared or Tom realized what he was planning. His shirt was still disshelved despite of Tom’s earlier efforts to button it up and now Mike tore it apart completely, buttons flying all around. The people sitting at the tables scattered out, trying to salvage their drinks; some yelled for the manager, others just watched the scene unfolding. And Mike was in his element. He tore the shirt from his chest and swirled it above his head, his hips moving in sync with the rhythm. Someone cheered.  
  
Jared somehow found himself standing next to Jensen. He cast a glance at the man who watched the scene with subtle amusement, almost as if he knew this would happen, as if he’d planned it. In a way it was by his doing, he only pushed the right buttons on Michael Rosenbaum. Literally speaking.  
  
“You made him act even crazier than usual.” Jared leaned to the shorter man to be heard in the noise. “That takes a talent.”  
  
Jensen turned to him smirking. The smirk made the corners of his eyes crinkle adorably. “My talents are plenty,” he mouthed.  
  
And Jared found himself kissing the other man’s soft full lips, melting into him and spinning out of control.  
  
***  
  
Jensen had sex before. With women. And it was pleasant, the release and the sensation of the girl’s release, especially the latter. He’d never come first, he believed that was imprinted into his empathic genome; he had to experience the partner’s pleasure to trigger his own.  
  
That’s why the experience with Jared surprised him so much.  
  
The big man told him to ignore Mike and Tom; to leave them to each other. And even though that was what Jensen had planned, he nearly could not believe his luck. Yes, trashing Mike was a means to win Jared’s esteem, but he never expected the big man’s reaction to be quite so intense.  
  
Jared nearly manhandled him into the cab and they sat in fake stillness next to each other, but Jensen could feel the other man’s desire assaulting him in tsunami waves. They started kissing even before Jared opened the door to his apartment. He nearly crashed Jensen into the wall, while he fumbled with the key, cursing against Jensen’s lips.  
  
Jensen wanted to start undressing the taller man, but he knew Jared didn’t want that, not yet. Oh, he wanted, but not outside the apartment.  
  
The door opened finally and they stumbled inside, tripping on some boots lying scattered on the hall floor.  
  
“Damn you, Harley,” Jared muttered, still clinging to Jensen’s lips, and Jensen felt a presence of a very happy . . . Animal. Jared reluctantly disentangled himself from Jensen’s embrace and leaned to pet a jumping and tail-wagging dog.  
  
No, no time for this. Jensen lay a hand on the small of Jared’s back and felt the electric-like shock surging through the other man’s body. Jared looked up at him and their lips crashed again, a large hand cupping the back of Jensen’s head.  
  
The main difference between sex with females and sex with Jared was that he was larger, so much larger than Jensen. Well, maybe not so much, but that was how Jensen felt. Engulfed, encompassed.  
  
They marked the way to the bedroom with scattered cloths: jackets, shirts, shoes and trousers. When Jared pushed him on the bed, they were both naked and Jensen could feel the cold breeze on Jared’s skin, or on his own, he wasn’t sure. The touch of cold sheets against his back felt strange, like it wasn’t his body.  
  
Jared straddled him with his arms and stared at his face from really close. His eyes were dark, blown pupils and deep brown irises with golden smudges. His lips spread in that wide, easy smile, with full-on dimples. His face was framed with waves of light brown hair.  
  
His hips lowered gently and Jensen felt their dicks rub against each other. Felt it both ways; his own slightly surprised pleasure and Jared’s ecstasy. Warmth. Heat.  
  
Fire.  
  
Felt his hand grab them both, only it was not his hand and caress, pulsing like his heartbeat and _his_ heartbeat, and their hips pressing and the cold air and cold sheets surrounding and so hot inside, in the core, their core, his core. The unity with this other body, this other mind, was nearly perfect, they felt the same; frenzy, rapture. And Jensen’s body gave in to the swarm in a tremor of assaulting orgasm.  
  
He opened his eyes, worn out, wasted, and saw Jared’s golden irises still above him, still smirking and felt more pulsation more want, more heat until Jared joined him in bliss a few heartbeats later.  
  
He stopped moving then and hovered above Jensen with impenetrable look on his face, but Jensen felt the immensity of his satisfaction.  
  
“ _\--beautiful--_ ” he heard the word in his head. He blinked. No, Jared’s lips hadn’t moved! Jensen shivered; he had actually heard the other man’s thought . . . He was sure it was not possible . . .  
  
And this word . . . Jared was thinking that about him . . .  
  
When Jared collapsed next to him and Jensen only saw the white, a little dirty ceiling, it was like a shock. Like a part of him was torn out and it hurt, physically. He couldn’t breathe for a moment for fear that his heart was ripped out and there was a gaping hole in his chest, through which the air would leak.  
  
But Jared was breathing next to him; the sweat on his skin cold and tickling and Jensen closed his eyes and immersed himself in experiencing Jared’s sensations. He wanted to remain like this forever.


	4. Chapter 4

_In dreams he sees a girl sometimes. She’s two years old, has curly golden hair and bluest eyes he’s ever seen. She’s a little scared as she clings to her Mommy, but Mommy whispers something in her ear and the girl lets go and runs to him. Pauses two steps away, hesitant, but eager and when he reaches for her she smiles so beautifully. And Jensen wants to remember that smile when he wakes up. He wants to remember her face, so much._  
  
***  
  
A tap on a shoulder brought him to reality.  
  
Jensen opened his eyes, and squinted against the brightness seeping through the window.  
  
“Hey, sleepy head!” He heard a voice. There was someone in the room! Jensen felt weird about it; the person wanted to sound merry, but was rather impatient. “I was so noisy here, and you didn’t even turn; I’ve never met a sleeper like that, seriously. Harley licked your hand, and you just tucked it under the cover,” the man laughed. “Harley, come here, buddy. Bad boy.” The claws scrapped on the floor as the big dog left the room. “I had a shower, walked Harley, had breakfast, but I really can’t wait any longer.” Jensen realized the other man’s plans were important. The other man--  
  
His name was Jared -- he remembered. Jared Padalecki, the member of Morgan’s Group, the one Jensen was supposed to manipulate into falling in love with him, because following his heart -- or his dick -- instead of his head, Padalecki was supposed to help Jensen become a member of the most secretest anarchistic organization in North America. And considering they ended up in bed together yesterday, things seemed to be on the right track, but Jensen had an unpleasant feeling that he missed one important clue.  
  
“You awake?” Jared asked, and Jensen was alarmed by the seriousness of that question. Their eyes met and Jared smiled broadly. But it was not a flippant kind of smile, or maybe it was, maybe it would look like it to someone who couldn’t sense the emotions behind it. “Good.” The emotions were impersonal, sympathy alright, but with a hint of annoyance and a whole lot of attention turned elsewhere, to other, really important matters. “The coffeemaker is hot in case you wanted. There is some food in the fridge too, not too much, but feel free to take whatever you fancy. The door has automatic lock, so don’t worry about it. You can see yourself out. I gotta run.”  
  
That was all Jared wanted to say, Jensen realized, and he wanted to say it because he was not a rude person who would leave a stranger alone in his apartment without any explanation. But the way he said it, and what he felt with it, made it blatantly clear that Jared wasn’t expecting to see Jensen again. Like ever. It was a one-night-stand; by the book one-night-stand.   
  
Jensen couldn’t believe himself!  
  
But before he managed to gather his wits about him and respond properly, to maybe salvage the shreds of his dignity or any chance for his mission to succeed, Jared left the room and left the apartment.  
  
Oh, who was he fooling? -- Jensen covered his face with his hands, like it could shield him from the inevitable results of his own stupidity. There were no shreds to be salvaged! He blew it big time. He allowed himself to be sexed up on a first date with a predator. Not even a date; he was simply picked up at a bar. People just didn’t do things like that! Non empath people didn’t do this! For Jensen -- it was inexcusable.  
  
He could pack up now, and head right back home.  
  
***  
  
Jared was able to draw a line between his private life and his duty.  
  
He wasted some time in the morning, but not more than he was allowed to. The old storehouse was at the outskirts of Vancouver so he needed to hurry, but still he managed to get there before everyone else. He opened the door to the crammed room at the back of the building with well earned satisfaction; he was reliable, took his obligations seriously and Jeff would be proud of him.  
  
The room smelled with dust and old furniture and that couldn’t be helped, because a lone smallish window was sealed for good. It was murky too, but could be made somewhat cozier by turning on the lamp hanging above the large table full of maps and blueprints. Jared gazed at the outline of the power station that lay on the desk since last week, the chairs still around it just like he, Jeff and Jim left them. He gritted his teeth, his anger from last night all gone and replaced by worry. Jeff would be back with them in a couple of weeks, he told himself, folding the huge sheet of paper.  
  
As Jared was rearranging the chairs in a semi-regular circle between a worn out couch and an ancient armchair, so everyone could sit more or less comfortably, looking at one another -- the others started arriving. Nicky was first, with her sheepish smile and honey-colored hair falling into her eyes. She didn’t say anything, sat at the edge of the couch and opened her laptop. Jared didn’t need to talk to her to feel good in her presence. If he liked girls he would fall for Nicky Aycox. Or maybe not.  
  
No, he would not, Jared decided. Nicky was a friend. The best friend.   
  
Others came in, the command team, seven people including Jared. They were all friends, but if Jared would name one person he would trust his and Jeff’s life without hesitation, it would be Nicky. If her aim was better that is, Jared had to remember she was no good in the actual combat where lives would be trusted.  
  
The last person to enter was the quiet new addition to their group, recommended by Jim Beaver as “the impossibly cool-headed killer even in the hottest situations” -- what made him the opposite of Nicky. His name was Misha Collins and even though “cool headed” was good, “in the hot situations outside” was even better, it didn’t have to mean the guy had a good strategic mind, and that’s what was needed here. In Jared’s opinion. Jared never said it out loud, though, because Jim was Jeff’s best friend from before the war and Jim’s word still carried more importance than Jared’s.  
  
They all took their seats and Jared braced himself on the edge of the table. This way he could see everyone from above, three men and three women. He was used to looking down on people.  
  
“Malik, would you care to begin.” Jared motioned for the huge Black man to give them his report first. C. Malik Whitfield had been sent on a mission south of the border and returned last night. Jeff texted Jared about this immediately; Malik had some information concerning the enemy’s secret weapon.  
  
“I located the facility,” the man begun in a thick accent. “It is in Arizona, near Flagstaff. It’s impossible to get within a five miles radius from it though. It’s guarded better than the White House and Pentagon together, so no wonder there are all sorts of crazy rumors going around.” That included talks about cyborgs, brain washing tools capable of mind reading and intelligent bomb, whatever that meant. “None seem to be true, though. There isn’t any heavy transport in or out, just ordinary goods supplies. I left a team in a nearby town and they will let me know if anything unusual happens. I don’t think we could get inside with a team. A mole, maybe, though it would be risky.” Malik shrugged and it was obviously all he had to say.  
  
“So we still don’t know what they are planning?” Jared scratched the back of his neck.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Carson says they sent someone.” Sandy chimed in. Petite, dark haired Sandra McKoy. Her Jared would fall in love with if he liked girls. She was pretty, fragile on the outside, but no-nonsense when it came to negotiation. But he preferred boys. He liked them somewhat fragile too. He wondered briefly if Jensen was fragile. There were moments that he did seem to be, but then, the way he dealt with Mike--  
  
“Jared?” Jim asked, surprised, and Jared realized he snorted out loud.  
  
“No, sorry.” Jared jumped to attention; getting distracted like this was no good. “Carson?” he focused on his task. “Is he still reliable?” Steve Carson was a major in the US Army and had some connections with the section that was oriented at eliminating the terrorist threat from the north, as their group was called. But two of the last Carson’s leads were faux, so Jared opted for removing him from the resources list. He was the only one though.  
  
“He is reliable.” Sandy said sharply, backing up her affiliate. “He says that we either have a mole in already, or we will within the next couple of weeks.”  
  
All eyes fell on Misha; he was the new guy in the group.  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jim threw his hands. “The guy has been with us since the war. I brought him into the command team because we need someone with field experience, but he’s no mole.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything.” Sandy backed off.  
  
Jared wiped his face and noted to himself, with slight resentment, that the meetings under Jeff’s supervision were different. No chaos, and there were actually some ideas.  
  
“Okay, chill, people!”  
  
Jim cast another angry glance at Sandy, but pursed his lips shut. Sandy shrugged and sighed with exasperation. Misha sat staring at his hands, and Malik sat staring at Jared. Nicky was still focused on her computer and Jared made a mental note to ask her what she had there that was so important. Meanwhile he turned to the oldest lady in the room, Samantha Ferris, who sat next to him in Jeff’s armchair.  
  
“Do you have that supply list?”  
  
Sam looked up at him, took a long breath and stretched her arms as if awoken from a nap.  
  
“I do. We need to get more--” she stopped abruptly and gazed at the door that was behind Jared’s back.  
  
Jared’s head jerked in an impulse. There, in the entry, leaning on the doorframe, stood the huge bearded man. He looked like a bear. Like frigging black grizzly.  
  
Jeffrey.  
  
“Don’t mind me--” he wheezed and waved his hand dismissively. “Keep going.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Nicky jumped to his side before anyone else even realized what was going on. She grabbed his elbow, the other hand encircling his waist and helped him inside. That was what Jared meant by trusting her completely.  
  
He joined her a moment later, but was not needed. Samantha stood up from the armchair and along with Nicky helped Jeffrey sit down. He winced from pain, but concealed it quickly.  
  
Still, Jared noticed. Jeff shouldn’t have come here!  
  
“That was stupid and reckless!” he seethed at his best friend, almost father and boss.  
  
“Jared, give the man a break.” Sam straightened her pose and eyed the taller man like he was a naughty pupil. To her he probably was. “He’s been out of the course of action for a week; I’m surprised, given his restless nature, that he didn’t show up here earlier.”  
  
“That’s probably because Jared tied him to bed.” Nicky chuckled.  
  
Jared had nearly done it and now he regretted he hadn’t. Jeff had three broken ribs for God’s sake! He could barely breathe; he shouldn’t be standing up, let alone walking! He risked--  
  
“Take it easy there, boy,” Jeff smiled at him knowingly. “Doc says I’m cleared for light duty.” He winked.  
  
“Because you bribed him!”  
  
“Not quite.” Jeff’s tone was calm, but the look in his eyes clearly pronounced that he was done discussing his health issues. “Sam, what were you saying?” Jeff took command back into his hands effortlessly. Jared should have felt relieved, because he didn’t do all that good as a leader, but instead he was even more anxious now.  
  
They were running low on weapons, ammo and even people; they had a threat -- unconfirmed, but no less threatening -- of a spy in their midst, and they knew close to nothing about the enemy plans. Their leader was injured. The man Jared considered his foster father was hurting. It was his role to take care of everything and he wasn’t doing his job, and now Jeffrey came and saw it. And he took over.  
  
And rightfully so. Sam finished briefing them on the means to restock their arsenal and Jared didn’t even hear a word. He knew those plans more or less, he was partially responsible for putting them together, but hearing them outlined now was no less important.  
  
Jeff then asked Whitfield to repeat what he’d found out about the facility, and probed deeper, forcing Malik to spit even those things he did not remember, like the color of grass around the perimeter in the moonlight. One never knew what detail would matter to Jeffrey Dean Morgan. And what conclusions he would get from it.  
  
“Some of it has to be true,” he murmured staring at nothing.  
  
“What?” Jared snorted. “Robots, or mind reading?”  
  
“You know this is not impossible. Scientists were experimenting with things like that even before the war.” Jeffrey shrugged stiffly. “We must find a way to plant a mole.” He looked over at Nicky.  
  
No, Jared wanted to say, but he only mouthed, unnoticed by anyone. Not Nicky!  
  
But she replied simply, “I checked what you asked me to.” Pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Huang Jing, the professor you mentioned was involved with genetic experiments before the war. And his lab was moved to Arizona during the war. Yes, it’s possible that it was near Flagstaff, but that’s about all evidence I could find.  
  
“Find more.”  
  
Jared watched Jeff incredulously. He’d never mentioned anything about any Huang Jing professor to him and that stung. Jared was sure Jeff shared everything with him.   
  
“We have to move faster, people.” Jeff said softly, but with an unusual, even for him, intensity. “They have some names, and quite possibly the location.” He was making pauses in his speech, to take shallow breaths, and it made Jared’s stomach twist. “Jim, Sam, I need you to find us some place else where we can stock out, and I need you to do it by noon. Sandy, contact all team leaders and tell them to take a dive. Malik, Misha--” Jeff hesitated, looking at Jared, “--and you. Run through all the stuff we have here and load what’s absolutely necessary onto the trucks. Only the vital stuff! Jared I want you to start with the papers here. Go people!” Even sitting in his chair, pale and panting, he yielded respect Jared could only dream of. Not that he wanted to take Jeffrey’s place. No, he simply wanted to be useful!   
  
“Jay,” Jeffrey said softly when there were the two of them in a room, in a silent and almost unnoticeable company of Nicky. Jeff trusted Nicky like Jared did, boundlessly.  
  
Jared turned away from the maps on the desk and crouched beside his mentor.   
  
“I want you to leave in the afternoon.” Jeffrey’s eyes bore into his. “I want you to go home and stay there until you are contacted by me or someone else.”  
  
No! Jared wanted to scream. He would not hide! He wanted to be with everybody else! But he didn’t say anything, just listened to his orders.  
  
“Act normally, do all the things you always do.” Jeff’s gaze dropped to his lap. Jared knew what this look meant: Jeffrey tried to hide his disapproval. The sudden fury he felt startled even Jared. Jeffrey had no right to judge him! It was none of his business. Fathering the boy since he was fourteen and both his parents were killed, didn’t give him the right. Even his parents wouldn’t be allowed to judge him, actually. If he wanted to go to Crash and bring boys home, boys like Jensen, no one was allowed to tell him it was wrong, or to make faces!  
  
He suddenly wanted to see this Jensen-guy again.  
  
“Jared,” Jeffrey pleaded, and Jared realized he stood up and moved away, to the window. Nicky was looking at him, instead of her laptop, and he saw sympathy in her eyes.  
  
He shrugged and turned back to face Jeffrey. “I’ll do as you say,” he said resignedly.  
  
“It’s important that you do Jared.” There was that intensity in Jeff’s gaze again and Jared understood his superior was not trying to protect him; he was giving him a mission. So stealthy even he was not allowed to know what it was. It made his head spin, but Jared decided to can the asking. Jeffrey knew what he was doing. Jared just had to trust him, and that was easy.


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s not a cripple, you know.” Nicky’s laptop clicked as she closed it.  
  
Jeffrey had left a couple of minutes ago with Sterling -- that at least explained how he had come here earlier. Jared was glad that there was someone strong and able to take care of their leader, if the injured man didn’t want to ask for his help.  
  
He picked up the box full of folded blueprints, books and notepads. The last box. He ignored Nicky’s comment, but the girl came up to him.  
  
“Nor is he an old man, and you shouldn’t treat him as such.” She stood before him, her lips in a thin line, arms folded across her chest.  
  
Jared sighed and put the box back on the desk. He wasn’t in a mood to argue with her. He wanted to go back home. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like sending him back was Jeff’s attempt at protecting him. Jeff did his best to make Jared feel like it was important for the Group, but if he really thought that, if he really mean it as some sort of a mission, he would have said _something_. There would be some instructions other than -- go and have fun like you do everyday.  
  
And the worst of all was that he wanted to go! It made him feel guilty; he should have fought harder, he should have assured them, Jeff most of all, that his place was here with his friends. He should have wanted to fight along with them, or hide with them if that was what they were doing. He should have wanted to be useful to the people who’s lives were intertwined with his so much. It’s what he would have wanted on any given day.  
  
But not today. Today he sincerely wanted to go back home and find out if the guy he met last night had left any note; go to Crash and see if the green-eyed wonder would show up again.  
  
“Are you mad at him, Jay?” Nicky pushed her honey locks out of her eyes and Jared could see concern in them.  
  
It took him a moment to remember they were talking about Jeff.  
  
He bowed his head and looked at his shoes. “I don’t know,” murmured. “I guess I’m tired, this past week--” he didn’t finish, but Nicky knew; they’d been through this together. The fear for Jeff’s life, for their own lives, because without Jeff there was no Group and without the Group their existence had no meaning. Then bearing Jeff’s annoyance and impatience at being immobilized. Perhaps that was why Jared wanted to escape, to just pretend this life did not exist.   
  
“What’s with you, Jared?” Nicky asked, scrutinizing him with extra attention. “Are you in love or something? You’re awfully distracted today.”  
  
“What?” Jared gasped. “No!”  
  
“You are.” Nicky’s eyes grew wide, then she giggled at his expression. “You got yourself some pretty boy, didn’t you?”  
  
“For god’s sake, Nicky!” he would never understand her fascination with his life outside the Group. He tried to separate the two, but it was the truth, he gave this boy quite a few thoughts today. A few too many, probably. “It was a one-night-stand.” He snarled. He had to be real about the whole thing! He didn’t know anything beside the guy’s first name, but he had a distinct feeling that people like him weren’t coming to the same place twice. Besides he wasn’t sure if he even wanted that. Seeing Jensen again might take away some of the mysterious charm that surround the man.  
  
“Some one-night-stand,” Nicky smirked, “that you can’t stop thinking about the morning after. Musta’ been special.” She shook her head, grabbed her laptop and with a soft, “Jeff knows what he’s doing, Jay. Trust him,” she walked out of the room.  
  
***  
  
There was no trace of anyone staying at his home last night. Of any stranger. Or rather there was, because the bed was neatly made, what never really happened to Jared, coffee maker was cleaned and crunches of bread and coffee stains on the counter were wiped. The goods in the fridge were untouched, though.  
  
Jared walked Harley, but he knew he wouldn’t stay home; he was too agitated.  
  
He wanted to go back to the storehouse, or go to Jeffrey or Nicky, or Sandy. He wanted to find them, make sure they were alright. Jeffrey didn’t even say why he thought there was a need to change the location. He gave an order and wheels were set in motion.  
  
He gave an order to Jared, too, and Jared didn’t want to disobey.  
  
He wanted to go to Crash. And he didn’t want that. He wanted to meet Jensen again, and he was afraid that if they met, he would realize that Jensen was not as enchanting as he remembered him to be. He had been drunk last night; everything was prettier, better, more green-eyed after a few shots of vodka.  
  
Jared stood outside of Crash late in the afternoon. He couldn’t remember ever coming to the club this early. The bodyguard that usually stood at the entrance in the later hours wasn’t there yet. Jared went in.  
  
As he descended the stairs, a view on the bar counter was opening with each step. It was brightly lit, not murky as it would be later; like a place he had never been to before. The barman was lazily wiping the counter. Someone sat at the far end.  
  
Jared stopped three steps above the floor.  
  
He knew that figure. He shouldn’t have, not after meeting someone only once, but the hunch of those arms was so familiar. The man turned to him as if sensing his presence, green eyes caught his and the man’s face was picture-perfect of surprise. Pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. And Jared felt his own lips widen and break in a widest cheeky grin he could muster.  
  
***  
  
Jensen knew his mission was over. He _knew_ it. He knew human psyche, had studied it for years; he couldn’t remember doing anything else. He knew types of personalities and their shades. He was able to decipher people’s motivations from very faint clues. He could anticipate actions and reactions with 99% accuracy. 1% was left for statistic purposes; Eric told him how statistics worked -- there never was 100% result in anything.  
  
Jensen met Jared Padalecki and -- due to a silly mistake in identifying his objective -- pushed him away. Then, too eager to correct that error, Jensen tricked Jared into falling for him immediately, while he should have taken his sweet time, slowly cultivating Jared’s obsession. Over the lovely lazy two weeks. Oh, maybe a day or two less. Jared was a hunter, a predator. He needed to put an effort into claiming someone as his, he didn’t want easy lay. Oh, he could take one, for one night, but Jensen needed more than that. Jensen needed Jared’s respect. His trust. Trust that can only be given to someone you lost your head for. Jensen had to make Jared loose his head for him.  
  
He _had_ had to, because now it was a song of the past. Jensen had been Jared’s easy lay last night, and now he could pack up and go home.  
  
He went to Crash though. He knew it made no sense; if anything, it would only make things worse, because if Jared saw him there, he would think Jensen was pining for him and that might indispose him toward the stalker. But he went there.   
  
He ordered a beer.  
  
And as he was half way into it, he sensed Jared. His heart started thumping, like it wanted to jump out of his ribcage. Jared was there. What was he supposed to do? Should he pretend he didn’t see him, ignore him? Would that be the best strategy? Suddenly Jensen wasn’t sure.  
  
Then he felt Jared’s eyes on him and he felt the other man’s-- joy?  
  
Jensen turned and met Jared’s shining gaze. In two long strides Jared was by his side, all happiness and excitement.  
  
“I was hoping you would come here!” he said sincerely.  
  
“You were,” Jensen confirmed with surprise.  
  
***  
  
Jared laughed and talked loudly and Jensen knew he was releasing some great tension this way. It wasn’t helping really, he was still upset. He was talking about how, in the morning, he hadn’t thought he’d want to see Jensen again, but that he couldn’t stop thinking about him afterwards. And Jensen did his best to hold his tongue and not say that he knew exactly how Jared had felt earlier. And how that change of heart surprised him, and how he couldn’t fathom why and what happened.  
  
He was wondering about it silently, and Jared was asking those questions aloud, and answering himself silly. Like it was something about Jensen’s smile, or his freckles, or his eyes. What was funny actually, because Jensen thought his eyes were about the last thing that could attract anyone. He was short-sighted, and really didn’t like it. Sometimes he’d wondered, and he knew that other empaths wondered that too, why they had defects? Because each of them had one, or more. If they were genetically engineered, they should have been perfect. Eric had told them that it was on purpose, that having some flaw would make them more sympathetic, more “normal”. Would make people trust them easier. Jense thought it was a moronic reason.  
  
But Jared meant the color of his eyes, “because they are unbelievably green,” a thing Jensen knew about, but was not really aware of. Did it matter what color were somebody’s eyes? Although he had to admit that he really liked Jared’s eyes, with those golden specks around the pupil, like sun-rays.  
  
“Tom and Mike coming tonight?” Jensen asked, grasping at the first idea to change the subject.  
  
“Don’t know.” Jared shrugged, then chuckled. “Don’t think so, though. Not after what you did with Mike last night. That was awesome.”  
  
“You don’t like him, do you?” The question was out before Jensen could think better of it. Of course Jared didn’t like Mike, and of course Jensen knew it was because of Tom; because Jared thought Mike didn’t treat Tom well enough. Jared was wrong here, but it was a whole different matter.  
  
The problem was that Jared wasn’t openly showing his dislike, he was an “everyone’s friend” kind of person, and Jensen was aware of his resentments only because of his emphatic skills.   
  
“It’s not that, I don’t--” Jared hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. And making Jared uncomfortable really didn’t serve Jensen’s purpose. It was a miracle that he even still _had_ a purpose, he shouldn’t be fucking it up again! Jensen wondered how many more mistakes he could make regarding this man and still get away with it. Jared sighed, “I used to be with Tom. Didn’t work out, but I really like that boy. And Mike-- He’s not right for him. He’s so unpredictable.”  
  
Jensen snorted. Mike was very predictable, actually. It was Jared who was unpredictable.  
  
How the Headquarters figured that making Jared fall in love with someone was a way into Morgan’s Group, was beyond Jensen. Jared was too loyal for that. Jensen could say it, based on what Jared felt about that someone he classified as a father, for the lack of a better term. There was resentment, there was anger. But Jared would never say a bad word about that person.   
  
Jared was full of contradictions, too. Laid-back, and making friends with little to no effort, but he was not trusting easily.  
  
There was also the faint possibility that Jared was not involved with the organization at all, because Jensen hadn’t sensed anything that would suggest Jared’s attachment to any insurgent faction. This could either mean that he was not caught up with them emotionally, or in the flesh, or that he was able to distance himself from the Group in order to protect it.  
  
Whatever the reason, Jared was not as easy target as he was labeled by Jensen’s superiors . . .  
  
Sudden shift in the said target’s mood sent chills down Jensen’s spine.  
  
He looked up, analyzing the sensations. Such heated hate and contempt. And even though Jensen knew none was directed at him, for one heartbeat he was afraid that his plotting was outed somehow.  
  
But no, Jared was looking at a smug young man, approaching them.  
  
“There, there, Jay,” the stranger said slowly and Jensen was absolutely certain the man was talking to him. It was ridiculous. He was staring straight at Jared. “I see you got yourself a new boy. Wanna introduce me?”  
  
Emotions radiating from Jared nearly choked Jensen, as the tall man seethed, “Not really.”  
  
“Didn’t think so.” The stranger shrugged and turned to Jensen. “Chad Michael Murray.” He extended his palm and Jensen took it, noting he made another mistake with regard to Jared, as the tall man’s anger flashed a notch higher.  
  
“Jensen Ackles,” he stammered simultaneously with Jared’s, “Get lost!”  
  
“Or else?” Chad Michael Murray stepped into Jared’s personal space, confident, challenging and over a head shorter, as Jared stood up and they eyed each other.  
  
Jared’s feelings were so intense Jensen felt dizzy and nauseous. He knew what was coming with absolute certainty. No statistical error there. He would have stopped Jared if he’d been able to move.  
  
What Jared didn’t see was the beefy bodyguard behind Chad’s back. The accumulated anger and frustration of the whole day, or maybe of the number of days before -- it was so intense Jensen’s head exploded with pain -- took the better of Jared and his fist connected with Chad’s jaw. Chad flew back, straight into the bully’s huge form and bounced off it. The bodyguard gazed down at bleeding Chad gathering himself from the floor, then at Jared, who, beside being enraged and flustered, was now uncertain as well. Then the bodyguard, who was as tall as Jared, but respectively wider and heavier, grabbed Jared by the collar and after that . . .  
  
Jensen lost consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing his mind registered was pain. A dull, nauseating headache.  
  
Then there were all those people; excited, frightened, confused, curious. Intense. And pain in the elbow and ribs, but Jensen recognized it as not his.  
  
Jared . . .  
  
Jensen looked around frantically, but couldn’t find the tall man anywhere in vicinity. The few occupants of the pub were all standing and staring at the staircase leading to the exit, though some of them were already returning to their tables. Jensen caught Chad’s gaze, but the man broke contact abruptly, withdrew.  
  
Where was Jared? Jensen could still sense him, as another blow was delivered to the other man’s stomach, and Jensen felt a wave of nausea. This was not his body! -- he reminded himself -- he could still move and he _had to_ move to find Jared!  
  
He was outside right in time to see Jared collapse to the ground, and the huge bodyguard deliver a final kick to the beaten man’s torso. Jensen fought the urge to jump at the bully; he knew he stood no chance against him, and he also knew the big guy had finished with Jared; he sensed it. As soon as the bully had left, Jensen was at Jared’s side and assessing the other man’s injuries.  
  
There was a gash on his forehead, his right arm hung limply and there were probably some bruises on the abdomen. Hopefully no broken or cracked ribs; Jensen was fairly sure he would have trouble breathing if Jared had cracked ribs.  
  
He had to get Jared out of here, and take care of his injuries. It wasn’t a rational thought, but a purely instinctive reaction -- he was in pain and he needed to do something about it. Then he reminded himself again -- _he_ was not in pain; it was Jared. Damn, Jensen really needed to to suppress his ability to experience through Jared, because he was getting dizzy from all the torment, and he wouldn’t be able to help the other man like this. There were a few meditation techniques allowing an empath a momentary shut-out. Some had more long-lasting effects, gave a more profound respite, but he needed something quick, something that didn’t require too much concentration.  
  
Helping a confused Jared to his feet Jensen mouthed a mantra and wiggled out his cell phone, still feeling a faint throbbing of Jared’s injuries. That was all the relief he would get right now.  
  
In the cab Jared started moaning that Chad was a moron. “I ain’t like that, y’know,” he slurred a little and Jensen wondered if his headache was a result of overload of experiences, or Jared’s concussion. “I don’t hit people on prissiple, but that tria-- traitoriosus moron deserves the bestofit. Fuck!” Jared squinted and gripped his head. Concussion then. Bitch!  
  
“Take it easy, man.”  
  
Jensen didn’t remember Jared’s address. He’d get there, but couldn’t spare his attention on directing the driver when he needed to focus on keeping Jared conscious. Instead he took him to his own place. It maybe wasn't the best idea, given that Jared was a target of his super-secret mission, but there wasn’t anything really compromising in the apartment, so his discomfort was rather irrational.  
  
“I’ma right.” Jared insisted as Jensen helped him to bed.  
  
The flat he was renting was small -- one room with a sleeping nook and a kitchenette behind a counter. But that was all he needed.  
  
Jensen took the med-kit to Jared and first looked into his eyes, searching for signs of intracranial bleeding, helping himself with a flash light.  
  
“Get that off!” The injured man showed his hand away, but Jensen saw that his pupils were equal and reactive, and sensitivity to bright light was only to be expected. His motor response was not too bad either.  
  
Having excluded brain damage, Jensen helped Jared out of his jacket and a button-up shirt, careful around the injured arm. That stung even through the fog created by mantra. It was a quick spell, superficial, and not very effective. Not like a proper meditation, so Jensen was still pretty finely tuned into Jared’s loads of pain.  
  
“Easy!” Jared hissed and Jensen winced as he pulled up the tee, tearing it away from the already scabbed-over gash on his stomach. Damn that hurt! There was the elbow too; taking the shirt off was not a good idea.  
  
“Gonna cut it off.” Jensen took the scissors and started ripping the material apart, whispering the mantra again. He couldn’t work with this pain in his head! Then he stopped; maybe he could? Maybe he _should_ , maybe it would help to take care of someone’s injuries when the caregiver could feel when he was doing something wrong?  
  
“You don’t have to do this,” Jared whined, waving his hand over himself, generally.  
  
“Who’ll do it if I don’t?” Jensen snapped. “You’re barely conscious.” He didn’t want to get angry at Jared. And he wasn’t; he had no reason to be, but the mixture of Jared’s anger, pain, what was it? Shame? And his own emotions-- It made him cranky. And the truth was he wasn’t even sure of his emotions in all this. He didn’t have the time and the spur to analyze himself.  
  
“Don’t be mad at me,” Jared moaned again. Great, now he thought Jensen was mad at him. Whatever for. “I’m not some idiot who brawls at bars. I had my reasons.” He was whining like a little boy.  
  
Jensen didn’t feel like comforting him about his emotional issues right now. “I don’t care,” he muttered.  
  
He had to concentrate on the task at hand, and that was taking care of the physical hurt. He had one badly bruised belly in front of him. And a fine belly it was, too; hard muscles flexed under his touch as he tried to asses the injured man for any internal damage. Reminded him of last night, in the most inappropriate moment. Was that even his memory, or Jared’s?--  
  
“I’m fighting for a cause,” Jared stammered and groaned from pain.  
  
At least the hurt didn’t originate inside, that much Jensen was sure of. Sore muscles, pricked skin, nothing more. _Concentrate on the physical hurt._  
  
“A cause, alright,” he muttered, clenching his teeth and cleaning the cuts with antiseptic. “Well, that’s noble. But I still don’t care.” He cared, but it was not a good moment to think about _that_. For various reasons. Jared hissed and groaned again. Jensen put away the bottle and took a clean gauze. “Sit still.”  
  
“You don’t believe me.” Obviously concussion was messing with Jared’s self-control, because he was on the verge of tears.  
  
Jensen sighed and looked up, eyebrows high. “So? What does it matter if I believe you or not?” Was that, like, Jared caring for his opinion, because he was in love? No, he was not, he was simply concussed and Jensen knew that. It only complicated matters.  
  
Jared was babbling too much. In any other situation Jensen would welcome it with open arms -- and ears -- because he needed intel. But Jared suffered a blow to the head that messed up with his ability to estimate the situation. Whatever he would let slip now, would turn against Jensen as soon as the effects of the head injury wore off. Jensen had to be careful, very careful, because knowing his luck with Jared so far, he could bet on making yet another mistake. Especially with the effects of Jared’s concussion clouding his judgment just as well.  
  
Physical hurt -- he reminded himself again. Stuck the gauze over the wound with the adhesive.   
  
“I dunno.” Jared shrugged helplessly. “But it matters.” He kept whining. “Chad is an ass. A traitor. He says those bastards who govern in the south are good guys.” Jensen’s heart started thumping. “Traitor! But then, he was born and raised here, in Canada, he has no idea what they did to my country. You were born here too, right?” Jared lifted his head up suddenly, and Jensen -- who was out of breath already, because, yeah, Jared started talking about insurgence, which he totally shouldn’t under the circumstances! -- had to grit his teeth to overcome a distinct vertigo. “Ough!” Jared moaned and gripped his head with his left, uninjured hand. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jensen sighed and rushed to get a bucket nearby, just in case.  
  
Jared fell silent after that outburst, obviously realizing he’d said too much. And Jensen concentrated on his elbow. Physical hurt, it was easy. The joint was sprained. Had an unpleasant violet color and was swollen bigger than Jared’s bicep, but at least it was not dislocated. A sling and bed rest should take care of this.  
  
“Want some Tylenol?” Jensen asked. “Should help with the pain.”   
  
The injured man nodded and Jensen handed him a pill and a glass of water.  
  
“Tired?”  
  
“I shouldn’t be sleeping, right? Might have a concussion.”  
  
“Not might. You do.” Jensen propped the pillows up on the headboard and helped Jared lean on them. Covered him with a blanket as well, and helped him into one of his clean button up shirts. It was too small for the man Jared’s size, but looked good on him. It was the right color, likely. “You may sleep if you want.” Jensen sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be here, checking you up every so often.”  
  
“You mean _waking_ me up, huh?” Jared smirked. He wasn’t up for sleeping. “Where are we anyway?”  
  
“My place.” Jensen watched Jared as he took in his surroundings. Either Tylenol was working already, or the injury was not that bad. Surely, though, Jared was alert and somewhat wary of this unfamiliar environment. Good, that meant that the risk of him slipping something up, something that he would regret later, was diminishing.  
  
“So,” Jared smiled a wide, toothy grin that was not one hundred percent sincere. Some of it was a facade, covering the insecurity.  
  
But some of it . . .  
  
Jensen realized, with surprise, that he started gaining something important today. Started gaining Jared’s trust. He didn’t yet have the big “I’ll trust my life into your hands” trust, and not even “I’ll sleep in your presence when I’m sick” trust, but a little one “I’ll talk to you, even though my brain may be a little silly” trust. A first step.  
  
Now if he could only not mess it up.


	7. Chapter 7

Jared was suffering. And not just physically, although both his head and his arm were hurting. But most importantly he suffered from isolation. He needed his friends. He’d always taken solitude badly; was a social being and needed people around him.  
  
There was Jensen alright, the constant guest at his place now. The man apparently considered it some kind of a duty to nurse Jared back to health; wouldn’t let him out of his apartment on that first night, even when Jared started worrying about his dog. It was a pretext of course; when he wasn’t around for too long, Miss Madie, the landlady, was more than willing to take care of Harley. Sure thing Jensen had seen right through this excuse.  
  
He’d finally allowed Jared to go back to his place -- under Jensen’s care, no less -- in the afternoon. After Jared had slept through all morning. He’d hoped Jensen had slept too -- he’d looked more worn out than Jared had felt; didn’t seem to be the man used to all the bruises and pain.  
  
They’d talked a lot that night. More than Jared would like to with a stranger.  
  
Jensen was from up north, Northwestern Territory, at MacKenzie River. Didn’t speak about the place too much, though; remembered his family instead, almost as if he'd just discovered what happened to them, choking on words, a distant, haunted look in his eyes. He'd lost both his parents during the war, just like Jared had and it was strange how similar their experiences were. Scary similar, only Jared had never really been able to put the names to all the hurting and loneliness, and fear, and . . . He found himself changing the subject pretty soon.  
  
He’d told Jensen about Chad. Told him more than he should have, again, but he felt he owed the other man some explanation. After all Jensen had to patch him up after the brawl he’d gotten into because of that moron.  
  
He’d been dating Chad, sort of. Had never been into dating and commitment before, never had the time or energy for it. Hadn’t told Jensen why; let him think whatever, that he was a playboy or something. Hadn’t ever shared it with Chad either -- the secrets of the Insurgence were on a whole different level of importance. But he’d fallen for Chad somehow. At first they had been sex buddies, but it had lasted too long and then-- there had been expectations.  
  
Like, that Jared had expected Chad to share his ideals of which they had never even talked about.  
  
It had been weird telling Jensen all that, because something was starting between the two of them as well. Something Jared didn't want, wasn't ready for, didn't have the time or the energy to get into. But, like with Chad before, he didn't seem to have a say in that.  
  
“Do you want to talk about your ideals with me?” Jensen had asked then, looking at his lap, and not seeming like he wanted to talk about it at all.  
  
Neither had Jared.  
  
***  
  
Sandy came to visit him three days later.  
  
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed at the sight of his bruises and his arm in a sling. “Jared, what happened to you? You should have said something, should have called!” She cooed over him before he managed to gather himself up of the couch. “No, no stay down, honey.”  
  
“I should have called?” Jared asked incredulously, uncurling his tall form despite her protests. He was forbidden any contact with the Group, how was he supposed to call?  
  
Sandy gazed at him with reproach as if he were the one who deserved it, and was about to say something wise-ass, when Jensen came into the room and her mouth formed a perfect, round “o”.  
  
“Uh, hi,” Jensen said warily.  
  
“This is Jensen.” Jared wiggled out of her embrace and walked over to Jensen to hook his uninjured arm over the shorter man’s shoulders. “He’s been taking a good care of me.” Grinned against Sandy’s frown.  
  
Some part of him relished in wicked satisfaction as her face shrunk with guilt, eyes cast downward, her teeth worrying the side of her lower lip.  
  
“Um, yeah,” Jensen shuddered lightly. “I tried. Look, Jay, I was going to check on my apartment. If you're alright here, I’d go now?” he asked before Jared had a chance to think that he’d like to talk to Sandy about the Group and everything. And that he couldn't do that with Jensen there.  
  
Jensen was awesome like that. The guy seemed to know exactly when his presence was a nuisance. Apart from that first day, but then Jared had needed someone forcing their care on him and in retrospect he was not going to argue that. Later though, Jensen was leaving him be, and coming back at all the right moments, almost as if he had some device in his head, set on Jared’s moods.  
  
After he left, Sandy stayed unusually quiet for about thirty seconds. She flopped down on the couch, lips pursed, gears in her head turning. Jared knew how she felt about his gayness, at least he thought he knew. He could swear she still had a crush on him from when she hadn’t known better, and considered it a terrible waste that such body was kissed by other men. Well, Jared couldn’t help it. If he liked girls, he'd be sexin’ Sandy, she was the cutest little thing, but he didn't.  
  
He was happy to see her though, very happy. Her coming to his place after three days of exile could only mean one thing -- that Jeffrey had finally decided Jared could be let in on the state of the affairs. Jared didn’t want whatever was going on between him and Jensen to stand in the way of that. He didn’t want Sandy to focus on those unimportant things; he wanted her to tell him where the Group moved, what were Jeff’s next plans-- How was he feeling!  
  
He crouched in front of her, questions ready on his lips, and she looked at him with sadness and distance in her lovely brown eyes. “So, he’s your new boyfriend?" she mocked and Jared felt his fists clench, pain in his right elbow suddenly sharper. "Will it end like it did when Chad --”  
  
He couldn't have her dissing his private life now.  
  
“Did you find the new location?” he cut in abruptly; sprung back to his feet.   
  
This was what she came here to talk about, wasn’t it? The Group, Jeffrey, not Jared’s love life, past and present.  
  
He was painfully undeceived.  
  
“Can’t tell you that.” Sandy shook her head, slightly caught off guard, and shrugged. “Jeff’s orders.”  
  
“No.” Jared run his hand through his hair. “No-- Why?” He turned his accusatory stare at Sandy, even though it was not technically her fault. “Why does he keep me in the dark?”  
  
Sandy looked at him wide-eyed. She opened her mouth, exhaled, “I don’t know,” she said and looked at her lap. Damn, Jared was sure they were all schooled better at lying. Apparently not to each other. When he snorted, Sandy's head snapped up. “What?” Jared shrugged. “Okay, fine, so I know why!" She stood up as well and was in his face in three strides, fuming and looking much more intimidating than she should have at 5'4. "Jeff doesn’t want you to know, because he has his reasons, so why don’t you just shut up and trust him?" She braced her hands on her hips for better effect. "And you’d better tell me what happened to you!”  
  
Subject change; clever. “I kind of got into a brawl at _Crash_ ” Jared admitted before he could really plan the strategy.  
  
“You can’t be serious?” Sandy’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “With whom?”  
  
Like that mattered the most? And like Jared wanted to talk about it at all. He wanted to know when his exile would be over! Besides, given how Sandy had alluded to his relationship with Chad a moment ago, Jared really didn't want to bring his ex up again. He didn't want to argue with her, he wanted her to stay here, and come back tomorrow, and another day, even if to talk about some irrelevant shit, laughing and teasing each other, like they usually did. He couldn’t stand being completely cut off from his family.  
  
“It was actually the bodyguard.” He chose the safer half-truth, just to give her some answer, just to sustain the conversation.  
  
“A bodyguard mauled you? Isn’t their job to, like, protect people?”  
  
“Well, probably.” Jared closed his eyes. Sandy just had to know _everything_. About _everyone_. She had mad interrogating skills and if she set her mind onto something, she was going to dig until she got it. Missing three days of Jared’s trouble must have messed with her sense of self worth; Jared almost laughed at that. If there was one person who would take exile worse than him, it was Sandy. "You know," he started trying to break the ice with a smile, "Chad may have pissed him off when he collided with his big tummy after bouncing off my fist."  
  
"Chad?"  
  
Right. He wasn’t exactly supposed to say _that_. But whatever. As long as it gave her the answers she was seeking-- “Well, yeah . . .”  
  
“You hit Chad?”   
  
It wouldn’t. That was why he didn’t want to say it. She wanted the truth, but the truth would only enrage her.  
  
“I thought you two were through?” It was an accusation, hands still on her hips and all.  
  
Jared sighed again. “He came on to us and started hitting on Jensen. Pissed me off. That enough?”   
  
“On Jensen?” Sandy’s brow furrowed. “That guy who took care of you? Why would he do that?”  
  
“Because he was jealous?” Jared felt the pang of irritation. “I don’t know! Who cares anyway?” He was sure getting tired of this. All he wanted was to talk to his friend! Why did she have to be, so-- So--  
  
Sandy pursed her lips. She pondered for about twenty seconds, then asked. “What happened then?”   
  
Jared sighed with exasperation. “Well, the beef grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the club. I wasn’t exactly cooperating, and, uh . . . Might have punched him or something. A few times, likely. He was obviously stronger--” He indicated his arm. “Then Jensen took me to his place and patched me up. Basically that was all.”  
  
Not enough for Sandy, though. “But still--” She shook her head. “Butting heads with Chad?-- I don’t know--”  
  
“My God, Sandy! It's not like I'm going to be back with Chad or anything!” he shouted and didn’t really try to contain his frustration any more. “I was -- dunno -- pissed off with Jeffrey, probably, and everything.” Why wouldn’t she understand? Why wouldn’t she just be his friend, instead of-- “Needed to lash out on something. Chad happened to be convenient.” Jared looked at her blinking at him. She didn't like this explanation at all. "Are you jealous?" he blurted angrily.  
  
She stepped back as if he slapped her. And, frankly, he was surprised she didn't slap him in return, but she just clammed up, shot him a hurtful glance and stormed out of his apartment.  
  
Yeah, so he crossed the line. Yeah, so he was left alone again.  
  
But she deserved it!  
  
***  
  
Things were so much simpler with Nicky. She appeared another two days after Sandy, when Jared’s forehead under his bangs turned fading yellow, and his elbow was well enough that he wasn’t using the sling any more. Jensen was still coming in every day, running errands like grocery shopping. He must have been here on such run, because when Jared came out of the shower, the bags stood on the kitchen table and Nicky was chewing on a chocolate bar from one of them.  
  
“I like him, y’know,” she said, smiling.  
  
Jared blinked, and eyed her, cautious. “Jensen?”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“Where is he?” He looked into the bags himself, pulling his t-shirt on, then started taking the cans and boxes out.  
  
He regretted Jensen hadn't stayed, he hadn't seen him since last afternoon when they-- They had sex. It had been great. Awkward, but great, but Jensen had seemed strangely thrown off balance and he hadn't wanted to stay for the night afterwards. Must have been the first time he'd done something that Jared really didn't want him to do, so his theory about Jensen obeying his unspoken commands had to be reevaluated.  
  
Jared had been hoping they'd have a chance to meet in the morning, but Jensen had apparently used Nicky's presence here as an excuse to vanish on him again.  
  
Nicky watched him from under her hair. “He saw you were in good hands today, and took off," she said softly. "He’s charming though, and seems to be honest.” She took coffee and tea packs and put them into the drawer. She didn't need to ask him where what lay, being probably the more frequent user of this kitchen than Jared himself. At least she was the one who kept it organized.  
  
“Yeah." Jared stood, gazing at two red-green apples and thinking about Jensen. Nicky liked him. That was much nicer than Sandy's attitude, but he wished he hadn't offended the other girl like that. He sighed and put the apples away with other fruits. "He’s a very straightforward guy. Grew up in the woods, up north. Guess it makes a person more natural, I don’t know.”  
  
Nicky nodded. “He really likes you. Maybe is, kind of, in love with you.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Jared?”  
  
She wanted to know. Much like Sandy had, but differently. Jared wanted to share his feelings with her. “Maybe I’m a little in love as well." He smiled, feeling like a lovesick teenager. Especially after last night. "But it’s not going to be like it was with Chad.”  
  
“Oh," Nicky snorted. "You were never in love with Chad!”   
  
“Is that right? Something I don’t know about?”  
  
She chuckled. “Okay, you were infatuated. I don’t know what it was, frankly. Lust. But Jensen-- I can’t quite put my finger on it, there’s just something about him. He fits you. Fulfills you.”  
  
She was right. Jared had felt it too and although he didn't like the sensation, he couldn't resist it either. “I wish I could--” he started and couldn’t say it aloud. But Nicky understood. True relationship was not really an option with what they were doing.  
  
“Enough about that, then.” She turned on the coffee maker. “I want you to tell me exactly how it went down with Chad,” she stated with her back to him.  
  
Jared felt like punched in the face.  
  
“What?” he couldn’t believe she was after the same thing as Sandy. He thought Nicky was different--  
  
“Yeah.” She faced him. As much as she would with those long honey hair covering her eyes and most of her blushing cheeks. “We’ve been talking about it and figured we took the wrong approach. Sandy figured, y’know.” Nicky shrugged and chuckled. “You should have heard her yelling at Jeffrey yesterday. I don’t think I’ve seen him flabbergasted like this before. Anyway--” The coffee maker bleeped, and Nicky handed him his coffee, took the other herself, and poured milk almost to the rim. Took her sweet time to do all this, what with opening the fridge door, pulling the milk out, opening it, pouring, closing, placing it back. And Jared wanted to bolt.  
  
They were playing him, obviously! Jeffrey was-- Jared couldn’t remember ever feeling that betrayed.  
  
Finally Nicky sat down and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, so at least one of her eyes was visible.  
  
“Remember how we talked about that mole? At the meeting last week?” Jared remembered. It was the same meeting when Jeffrey told him to _have fun_. And not contact the Group. “Well, the intel said you were the target. And that it was to be someone at _Crash_. Chad seemed like the guy. But we can’t be sure. He’s been in town for a while and this mole is supposed to be a new thing.”  
  
Jared felt blood in his veins freeze over. There was only one other explanation—  
  
“Jensen--”  
  
“Nah.” Nicky shook her head. “Not that I am the greatest judge of characters, but Sandy doesn’t think so either. She said that if he were, he would have stayed when she was here, would have wanted to watch and control you better. And I agree, but beside that--” she hesitated. “He simply seems like a nice guy, even if that sounds silly. I’m much better with scientific facts, y’know, than with people.  
  
Jared tried to breathe again. What Nicky was saying made sense. Jensen couldn’t be a spy, he didn’t behave like a spy. But then, wouldn’t that be the perfect camouflage, the double con or something. Making Jared believe he was harmless in order to gain his trust, so he would share his secrets willingly. Only it made no sense, the cost of such operation would be too high, the probability of success too low and the outcome doubtful. And thinking like this was only making the lingering effects of Jared’s concussion worse.  
  
And damn it, hadn’t it been the perfect opportunity for a spy to ask him everything when he had been concussed? He’d wanted to talk, then! And he would likely say anything, trust or no trust. Jensen hadn’t even been interested.  
  
Jared felt as if a great weight was lifted from his chest. He really wanted to be able to like Jensen.  
  
“Perhaps this whoever it was, hadn’t come to Vancouver yet, at that time,” Nicky continued explaining. “Last week. That’s what we came up with yesterday. And you weren’t at _Crash_ for the last few days. Jeffrey thought -- and still thinks -- that you shouldn’t know, that you would act more naturally then and would not scare him off. But the way you acted was not natural in the first place, and got you into a forced home-stay, so we managed to convince Jeff to let you in on the matters. You’re just gonna have to act, Jared.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“I hope.” Nicky smiled. It was an almost toothy grin, quite a lot for her. “Although I’m afraid you’re far too honest for that.”  
  
Jared chuckled. She had a point. But he could pull it off, he would do anything for the Group.  
  
“Jeffrey is gonna have that spy on a plate. Complete with carrots and fries.”  
  
***  
  
Jared couldn’t help it -- despite all the ways he tried to excuse Jensen coming to his life -- but feel uneasy in Jensen’s presence after that conversation with Nicky. And Jensen, perceptive as he was, picked up on it almost immediately.  
  
“Your friends-- They don’t like me?”  
  
He came in the afternoon, when Jared was considering just picking up the phone and calling him over. He came, brought a pizza and a movie, smiling and natural, if a little jumpy. The question, asked as he was inserting the DVD into the player, explained this slight nervousness.  
  
“Why would you say that?” Jared asked gently.  
  
“They met me,” Jensen shrugged, still not looking at Jared, taking the remote and pressing play. “Then they spoke to you and now -- I don’t know -- you are--” He shook his head, sighed and changed the approach. “That first one, she seemed to dislike me more, like, because I’m the guy. Like she was jealous. The other one, she appeared to be friendly, but--” Jensen suddenly turned to him, staring straight in the eye and demanding an honest response. “It was something she said, wasn’t it?”  
  
One thing Jared couldn’t give him was the truth. Damn it! And not even because he suspected Jensen was his spy -- he’d explained it to himself ten times already that Jensen couldn’t possibly _be one_ , and seven times that it was a coincidence, and another twenty five that he was being paranoid. But Jared couldn’t possibly tell Jensen about the Group. And he couldn’t tell him that he was suspected of being a spy, which was ridiculous, without telling who he would be supposedly spying. Gads, he was getting a headache again.  
  
How was he supposed to tell Jensen why his friends supposedly didn’t like him? Sandy would be an easy explanation-- And why not use it, exactly?  
  
It was the truth in too many aspects, he wouldn’t be lying all that much. What did Nicky say about him being too honest and unable to act? He could use Jensen as an exercise, right. So Sandy had homophobic prejudices, much like Jeffrey. So what if Nicky didn’t have them?  
  
“Yeah. They don’t like you being a guy,” he admitted.  
  
“That sucks.”  
  
Jared couldn’t deny it. That sucked. A family, even if surrogate, should have been more accepting. It was never out right said, but all the allusions, all the looks Jeffrey was giving him, and half concealed comments. He hated that. It was the only thing that was a source of conflict between the two of them, and Jared hated being in conflict with Jeffrey. Jeffrey was far too important. Jeffrey was his world.  
  
Jared noticed Jensen was watching him, his green eyes scrutinizing, boring down deep to within his soul. He wanted to say something, to explain himself for -- probably -- making a sour face, when the doorbell rung, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Jensen seemed startled as well.  
  
“I--” Jared was on his feet in an instant and run to the door. He vaguely noticed Jensen following him for some reason.  
  
The person standing outside was the last one he would expect.  
  
Jeffrey Dean Morgan himself.  
  
Jared stood at the open door, gaping, until Jeff smirked and asked, “May I come in?”  
  
“Sure,” Jared blurted out and stepped out of the way, anger and resentment still lingering somewhere at the back of his head.  
  
Jeff came in, still smirking, but when he looked above Jared’s arm, his face suddenly scrunched and his eyes narrowed in disdain. Jared didn’t have to look back to know that Jeff had just seen Jensen.  
  
And he knew in an instant that they were being judged, and not in a good way. The spy accusations fled his mind completely at this point and he only saw a friend, a surrogate father, who disapproved of his lifestyle and of the fact he loved boys. And that he had no right to do that!  
  
Jared turned around and confidently walked the few steps toward Jensen, not even paying attention to the other man’s pale face, and hooked his arm around his shoulders. “This is Jensen,” he said. “My boyfriend. Jensen, meet Jeff.” He noticed Jensen was so tense he was trembling.  
  
Jeff gazed at Jensen, not even trying to hide his dislike, but took the few steps separating them, and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” seethed.  
  
Jensen squeaked something in response and took Jeff’s hand, reluctantly, almost fearfully. Jared noticed a faint scornful smile on Jeff’s face, the way he shook his head.   
  
“I won’t be bothering you. Just wanted to see if you were alright, Jared.”  
  
“I’m doing fine, thank you.” Jared nodded, still holding Jensen and suddenly realizing that his newly appointed boyfriend stood up only thanks to his support.  
  
Jeff gazed at Jensen one final time, Jensen flinched at that as if physically punched, and Jeffrey left, still shaking his head.  
  
As the door behind him closed, Jared let go of Jensen and looked into his face, questioningly. Jensen pressed his hand to the wall and leaned on it heavily, gasping for breath.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“He hates me,” Jensen whispered faintly, his head bowed, chin at his chest.  
  
“Well--” Jared gazed at the door. He couldn't deny it, but Jensen’s reaction was kind of blown out of proportion! He wanted to say something reassuring.  
  
Jensen pushed his back against the wall and slid down slowly, a soft smile returning to his pale lips.  
  
“Boyfriend?” he asked, half-jokingly.  
  
Jared chuckled. Couldn’t quite help himself. This was a little sudden, how he just wanted to contradict Jeffrey, how he just wanted the old man to but off of his private life.  
  
“Why not?” he asked Jensen now, crouching beside him. Because -- why not?  
  
“You barely know me.” Jensen shrugged, his voice was still faint. “We had good sex a couple of times, I took care of your wounds, but that’s about that. What about-- Expectations?”  
  
“Expectations?”  
  
“Things you expect from your boyfriend. Common beliefs, like those you didn’t have with Chad. I don’t want us to end up like that.”  
  
Jensen was right. Jared didn’t want to learn one day that Jensen was someone totally different from him. Although he had a feeling that Jensen, given his past, his family’s death in a similar situation as his own; that they had the same goals in fact. He didn’t say anything though.  
  
If his relationship with Chad was good for anything, it was for teaching him not to mix his life at the Group with his private life. They were two separate things.  
  
“I don’t care about your beliefs,” he told Jensen, much like Jensen had said back when he’d been tending to his wounds. “I don’t expect us to have children, you know.” He winked. “It’s for now, for fun, and I can feel there’s a lot of fun we can have together.”


	8. Chapter 8

_What am I doing?_ \-- wide awake, his thoughts running a mile a minute, Jensen kept staring at Jared. At his peaceful face, the line of his neck, his naked, muscled chest rising and falling with each slow inhale and exhale. At his strong arms. Things he'd never been noticing before in people. Physical beauty.  
  
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize Jared's face. His wide smile and-- dimples? Jensen's eyes snapped open and the pad of his index finger wandered to Jared's cheek. The itch of Jared's growing stubble startled him, but it was pleasant. Touching his skin was pleasant, it was like a current flowing between Jensen's fingers, and Jared's jaw. It made him want to press his palm against Jared's shoulder, see if they fit.  
  
They did.  
  
Jared's skin was warm with sleep, but he was waking up, Jensen sensed his consciousness opening up, shining out like light from the cracks of the crust of his unawareness. With pleasure, with longing. Jared turned to him, humming softly and Jensen's hand grazed against his lips, caught a soft kiss. His fingers brushed off the strand of hair tickling Jared's nose. He was responding to Jared's needs almost automatically now, like to his own.   
  
Jared’s hand pushed him onto his back and the taller man hovered above Jensen, his eyes open a crack only, but studying him intently, and Jensen felt his heart freeze. If he’s not careful, Jared is going to start suspecting something. Jensen had to remember this was not about the pleasure; this was about the duty--  
  
He had to remember--  
  
But he forgot as Jared’s lips touched his, as Jared’s palm stroked his chest, irritating his nipple and Jared’s hips crushed into his. Jared’s passion flooded his mind, mixing with his own and magnifying it tenfold.  
  
Jared moved his face an inch lower, five inches, kissing his neck, his collar bone. Licking his chest, and down his sternum. The taste of his own sweat on Jared’s tongue was intoxicating. Jared’s large palms were framing his body, as his lips moved lower and lower down Jensen’s happy trail, nibbling and biting on his way there.  
  
The warmth of Jared’s breath was dizzying. The way Jensen’s cock felt against Jared’s cheek and the way Jared’s cheek felt against his cock sucked all breath out of Jensen’s chest, and when Jared took him in his mouth, that-- That was just-- beyond--  
  
***  
  
Jensen sat at the table in "Crash" and tried to count days. He had a vague feeling his time was running out and he needed to know exactly how much longer he had to fulfill his mission.   
  
He’d arrived in Vancouver in under twenty four hours from leaving the Institute. He’d met Jared on the very same evening and had gone to bed with him. Whether for good or for bad was beside argument now, but it all seemed to work out fine in the end. They’d met again the next night, when Jared had gotten into that brawl. It had been the third day, and with the next five days that Jared was recuperating, it made eight days total.  
  
On the eighth day something in their relationship shifted, something had changed, something that had given Jensen hope that his mission would be accomplished. For a brief moment everything had felt like a puzzle clicking into place. The connection they’d had through their shared experience of losing their parents in a similar way, the way they enjoyed each other company--  
  
Wait a minute! They hadn’t shared any experience! It had all been made up, Jensen had been given that info specifically to create a common ground with Jared, it was not real, it was a lie! He had lied to Jared when he was supposed to--  
  
No, he was-- He _was_ supposed to lie. He _was_ supposed to gain Padalecki’s trust by all means necessary.  
  
Good, so he’d gained his trust. Almost.  
  
Almost.  
  
And now it was four days later, and Jared still hadn’t asked about those shared experiences, or his expectations and common beliefs and that maybe Jensen would join him in his rebellion, because he was a member of that Group, y’know, that fought against the government from the south. Jared hadn’t said any of this.  
  
And it was the twelfth day since Jensen had left the Institute.   
  
His orders said to head back if he was not a member of Morgan’s Group within two weeks -- fourteen days -- because that wouldn’t leave enough time for the second -- well, third, given that getting to Vancouver was the firstest -- phase of the operation. As if it wasn’t enough, he was supposed to be contacted by the resident mole here, in Vancouver, within a few days from his arrival, which hadn’t happened. The only people he’d met were Jared and his friends.  
  
Unless either Tom or Mike were the mole.  
  
Jensen sipped his beer and glanced toward the bar where Jared had gone a few minutes ago, and now laughed at some joke of Mike's, Tom standing between them, his back to the room and Jensen. Nah, neither Mike, nor Tom fitted the profile, besides Jensen would have sensed that a mile away. Or, a few inches. He would have sensed _something_. No, Mike was too self-absorbed, and Tom not sneaky enough to be a spy.   
  
What were they talking about so long? Jensen took another sip and thought that he'd have to go to the bar to get another beer soon, while he'd rather not meet Jared's buddies. He was not jealous, it was not that. But he felt uncomfortable around them, and he needed Jared with him. For the mission purposes.  
  
Jared had been tense over the last few days, since they'd started visiting "Crash" again after his injury. He was expecting something and didn't want Jensen to notice that. Didn't want Jensen too close to him either. It was not helping things. He relaxed noticeably, only a few minutes ago, and just as Jensen thought he saw his opening, he realized it happened because Mike and Tom came in. Jared hadn't been around them since that first day, almost two weeks ago, and he was genuinely excited to see them now. He went there, talked and laughed loudly, throwing his head back and clapping his hands; laughed with his whole body, with his whole self. He'd obviously missed his friends.  
  
Jensen wondered how long they'd known one another. He was aware that Tom and Jared had been an item once, but there was no resentment between them now. Jared may have been a little jealous and maybe annoyed with Mike, but not having seen them for a few days was enough to make him forget that.  
  
"Hello, Jay," Jensen heard somebody speaking and for a moment froze, uncertain if he heard through Jared’s ears. It would be a little too much, too close a connection, but there had been those brief instances when he’d felt like being inside Jared’s head, so it was not impossible. But no, there was no one near Jared who could have said that, so--  
  
He lifted his gaze and saw a vaguely familiar person.  
  
He'd met this guy before and it had been in "Crash", and he'd addressed him "Jay" back then too, only he had not addressed him, but Jared. Or hadn't he?  
  
His name was Chad.  
  
That was Chad!   
  
Jensen's breathing quickened, but he schooled his emotions, before he said, "My name is Jensen. Jay is over there." He pointed at the bar and wished Jared would stop talking to Mike and Tom and get back here, like, right fucking now. Chad was giving him creeps.  
  
Chad followed his gaze and took a seat in Jared's chair. Waited until Jensen focused on him.  
  
“Your _alias_ is Jensen," he spoke then. "Your designation is J. So. How's it goin'?”  
  
Jensen felt his blood run cold in his veins. The creeps. Chad. Right. Chad was his contact from the Headquarters! How could he not have seen it before? How could--  
  
Chad smiled mockingly.  
  
“Yeah." He shot a glance at Jared. "Before he comes back. Report!" ordered.  
  
Jensen's thoughts cleared in an instant as training kicked in. An order has to be followed. He had to give a report. His two weeks term was coming to an end, and his mission's objective was not met, nor was probable to be met within the next two days.  
  
He took a deep breath and lied, “I’m getting close.”  
  
His heart was hammering in his chest; every mission mattered, each success was important to his superiors and this was the essence of his life. But Jensen also knew -- Eric made him aware of that -- that every failure of a mission conducted by an empath, or any of the other engineered individuals, was an argument against the whole experiment, and would lead to its ultimate cancelation.  
  
Eric didn't say it, but Jensen knew cancelation meant death.   
  
Not that this mission would be crucial for his and his “brothers” survival, but still, he _had to_ make it successful.  
  
“Close." Chad scrutinized him and Jensen tried to remember that this man was _not_ an empath, he couldn't sense a lie. "Right. How close exactly? You do realize you have two days till your deadline, do you believe you’ll become the member of the Group within the next forty eight hours?” Chad was cutting too close to the facts and Jensen felt he had nowhere to run. He'd have to admit defeat. He had two days and a lot could happen in two days, but nothing in Jared's behavior, or emotional status suggested that something would indeed happen.   
  
He gazed at Jared, still laughing with Mike and Tom, so merry, so free-spirited now, and felt a sudden pang of sadness. Two more days and if nothing changed, he’d never see this man again. He couldn’t let that happen!  
  
And he shouldn’t be feeling this way!  
  
Chad kept talking, but Jensen’s mind, startled with a sudden understanding of his own inappropriate feelings, barely registered the words. “You gotta be aware that getting through all the hierarchy of such an organization is not a piece of cake,” Chad prattled. “It’s much harder than getting one loverboy fall for you. And we have to eliminate Jeffrey Dean Morgan within the next six weeks," he accentuated the last three words. The next six weeks. They had to find the way to eliminate the threat that was the Group and its leader by that time, because the Headquarters had some plans for then.  
  
“Yeah." Jensen nodded, staring at his beer, not really certain what he was confirming. “Yes, I am aware." They had to eliminate Jeffrey Dean Morgan-- Wait-- "Jeffrey?" He looked up at Chad, his eyes wide, his heart picking the pace once again. "Morgan’s name is Jeff?”  
  
“Now you’re going to tell me you don’t know the most important details.”  
  
“Oh my god!" This was not possible! And yet, Jensen knew it was the real, truest fact. "If he is-- if it's him, and it _is_ him, I know he is, then I’m like--” This was the answer to all his problems, all his doubts, all his potential failures. He could stay! He could surely stay if-- “I’m one step away from him already!" Chad blinked, and Jensen couldn't help but chuckle. "Jared? This guy you set me up with? He’s no regular member of the Group! He’s like, I dunno what he’s like, but he’s like a son to Morgan." Jensen really enjoyed how Chad's emotions started jumping around frantically between disbelief, anger, denial and total fury. He didn’t like Chad, and sensing his puzzlement was wickedly satisfying. Especially since Chad was angry with himself at first, for a brief second.  
  
But then he doubted Jensen. "How do you know that?"  
  
"He's--" Jensen wasn't sure how to explain that. "He's that guy, really powerful, really strong personality, like-- like a-- He could crush you with his will alone?”  
  
That was too confusing for Chad.   
  
“He’s amazing!” Jensen added, realizing that what he felt for Morgan was pure, unadulterated esteem. Another thing he wasn’t supposed to feel.  
  
Chad's brow furrowed in surprise. “Wait a minute? You met him?”  
  
“Yeah. Yes, I’m pretty sure I did.”  
  
“What does he look like?”  
  
That was a good question; unfortunately one Jensen wasn't able to reply to. Or, not in a way Chad would expect. “Uh. I told you.”  
  
“What did you fuckin tell me?" The other man was really pissed now. "From what you told me I could think he’s a fuckin elephant!”  
  
“Well, he feels like it.”  
  
“I don’t care what he feels like!" Chad stood up and leaned over the table, so he was in Jensen's face, and seethed, "I want to know what he _looks_ like, so we can track him down! Damn it, an empath, I told them it was a bad idea. And damn it I had Padalecki on a stick--” He started turning away and Jensen couldn't stop but add to his misery.  
  
“No, you didn’t.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He wouldn’t have told you anything. He wouldn’t have shared anything with you. His loyalty to the Group is-- I don’t know it’s the hugest devotion I’ve ever-- sensed." It was stronger than any of his so called brothers’ devotion to the government. Stronger than his own. And it was not drilled into Jared, Jensen was pretty certain of that, what made it truly admirable too, but that Jensen kept to himself. "Why did you tell him you were sympathizing with the Southerns, anyway? You were with him--”  
  
"Are you stupid? I had no idea he was--" Chad stopped abruptly, staring in the direction of a bar. It was, however, enough for Jensen to understand how Jared had come to be "the perfect entry to the Group" and how his whole psychological profile -- so full of errors -- had been constructed. Chad had only understood what he had, after he’d lost it.  
  
Jared was nearing them now, fuming with anger. Chad didn't waste any time; he fled immediately, almost disappeared.  
  
"Asshole!” Jared stopped at the table. “What did he want?" he seethed, turning to Jensen, breathing hard, his eyes shooting fiery arrows from Jensen to the crowd Chad melted into.  
  
"Was asking how we were doing. I guess he's jealous." Jensen lied smoothly. It was so much easier to lie to someone who was not his superior, whom he didn't own an unyielding drilled-in loyalty.  
  
Jared fumed for a few moments longer, then sat down and gazed at Jensen intensely. He didn’t even bring his drink, so the table separating them was almost empty, as Jensen finished his beer in two gulps.  
  
“Do you know him?” Jared asked in a voice that was like a knife: hard and bright and sharp. Jared was suspecting something.  
  
Jensen looked up, knowing he had to be extra careful now. One wrongly placed word, one careless wink, might end it all for him, might even end his life right then and there. Not that he believed Jared would be able to kill him, deriving from factual emotional datum. But there was still a statistical probability.  
  
“No, no I don-- why?” he tried to look baffled. A little curious maybe.  
  
Jared’s eyes still bored into his, clear blue, all traces of gold erased by wariness, by anger.  
  
“What. Did. He. Ask you?” Jared demanded.  
  
“Just . . . How we were doing together?” Jensen responded and then he thought he might actually give Jared a little warning. It was an impulse. “Asked me if I met the family.”  
  
“Family?” That surprised Jared.  
  
“Yeah. Your father. He asked if I met your father already.”  
  
“My father is dead.”  
  
“He probably meant Jeff.” Jensen shrugged. “He sure feels like your father.” He was treading on a dangerous territory; he had no idea if Jared and Chad had ever discussed Jeff and his lack of acceptance of Jared’s love-life. “You kind of respect his opinion like you would that of a father.” Jensen attempted some explanation, and for a moment feared that he would say too much if he kept babbling like this.  
  
But Jared didn’t worry about the truth or lack thereof. He understood the words exactly the way Jensen meant them -- as a tip off. His concern for Jeff grew out of his anger and suspicions and was so overwhelming now, it clouded Jared’s judgment of the situation.  
  
The taller man leaped to his feet and murmured, “I gotta go.”  
  
He was out of the club in an instant and Jensen didn’t try to stop him.  
  
He thought about the fact that he’d just basically betrayed his superiors and he was shocked at how calm he felt about it.  
  
***  
  
 _Little girl’s eyes are clear blue, like water. They are watery. She’s sad, she’s crying because she doesn’t want to go. Jensen doesn’t want her to go either, but he knows she will come back, soon. She always goes and she always comes back. He tries to make her feel that. That-- hope. And she smiles at him._  
  
She never came back.


	9. Chapter 9

“He’s dead?” Jared felt his voice catch in his throat and the words came out in a high-pitched shriek.  
  
"Relax," Sandy came near him and put a hand on his chest, rooting him in place.  
  
The hospital waiting room was too cold or too hot and Jared wasn't sure what he was even doing here. Only that Sandy called him half an hour ago and told him that Misha Collins shot Chad Murray.  
  
"So he's not dead?"  
  
"By some miracle," Sandy snorted and gazed at Misha, who sat in the back, slouched in an uncomfortable hospital chair, his trench-coat covered with blood.  
  
Jim Beaver, who sat next to him, sprung to his feet and jumped at Sandy.  
  
"Don't you taunt him!" hissed. "He did the best he could; had to defend himself. Any other guy woulda' shot the scum dead. And he brought'im here; saved his life."  
  
"I hope he did. We need him to talk." Sandy and Jim were getting dangerously close to a heated argument, and Jared really didn't need the whole hospital knowing who they were and how they were involved. They had allies here, of course, but not everyone was on their side. The shooting, the killing? This was not a good conversation topic.  
  
"Jeff knows?" he cut in, hoping to divert their attention.  
  
"Misha called him.” Jim turned to Jared. “But then Malik came with that message from Carson and they had to look at it." Jim’s gazed at Jared sideways, because, of course, he wasn’t supposed to tell Jared that. Because Jared shouldn’t know about most of the things that were happening in the Group! Because he’d been targeted by a mole!  
  
Jared noticed Sandy’s squinted eyes. “If you’re gonna start bashing him--” she warned. What the?-- Oh! Right, Carson. Jared wouldn’t even notice that name was mentioned if not for Sandy’s protective streak. Yes, Jared’s skepticism concerning Steve Carson matched Sandy’s distrust of Misha. And she might easily misinterpret his current anger.  
  
He would inquire about Carson later, but he didn’t want to argue right now.  
  
"What's with Chad?" he asked struggling for a conciliatory tone.  
  
"He's in a surgery."  
  
So there was nothing they could do or learn right now. Jared scratched his head and blew a sigh. He tried to calm down, to be capable of assessing the situation with a clear head. He hated hanging in limbo like this. It had been too long already and had only gotten worse over the last couple of days, since he’d told Jeff about his suspicions concerning Chad. The Group had kept him completely in the dark, although it probably was for nothing anyway. Chad had already gotten the precious info he wanted.  
  
Still, now that he was out cold--  
  
"That intel from Carson?" Jared asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t be told anything more, but hoping anyway.  
  
"We don't know." Jim shrugged, and Sandy explained, "When Misha called, Jeff told us to get here and take care of the situation." It was as good excuse as any, but maybe it was true, actually.  
  
"The police were already here when we came," Jim piped up in a hushed voice. "Misha told them he heard shots and found the scum there. Claimed to have been in shock and acting irrational. He's really good, they bought it." He chuckled.  
  
Jared shot a glance at the other man, sitting there, calm, as if nothing happened. He still didn’t know what to make of him. Jim trusted him, and apparently so did Jeffrey, if he agreed to admit the fighter into the Group’s innermost circle. But Sandy had her doubts, and frankly, so did Jared. He looked back at Jim, but before he managed to ask a question, the doctor came in.  
  
"Charlie Mason's family?"  
  
Jim pulled Jared down and whispered into his ear, "That's the name Misha gave them."  
  
"We're his friends," Sandy said aloud. "His family lives in the Confederation."  
  
"Ah!" The doctor eyed them with distaste. He was apparently one of those people they might trust -- loyal to the old, pre-war order, not sympathizing with the Confederates. Except that because of Sandy’s words he was now thinking they were all from the South. At least he was too afraid to neglect them because of that, and informed them that Charlie – aka Chad -- was going to live, and would wake up within the next twenty four hours.  
  
“We put him in medically induced coma, to allow him to start healing faster,” the doctor said curtly. It was more than obvious that he was not willing to talk to them any longer.  
  
"Can we see him?" Sandy asked.  
  
The doctor sighed. He wanted to refuse, Jared could tell, but resorted to directing them to the nurses’ station and informing them that they were only allowed “for five minutes”.  
  
They had friends within the lower personnel of the hospital -- open sympathizers that had helped the Group on more than one occasion, Jeff’s latest injury included. Sandy neared the desk, searching for a familiar face. She found one -- Sophia Bush.  
  
"Don’t worry, I'll keep an eye on your guy." Sophia winked as they were leaving.  
  
***  
  
Something had changed. Oh, things were changing all the time, relationships shifting, that’s how it was, but Jensen felt really uncomfortable about it all of the sudden. Of the shift in his relations with Jared.  
  
He’d thought they were on a steady road to real trust and commitment. Damn, he felt committed himself, to the point where he couldn’t imagine leaving Jared, going back to the Institute, to the people he was responding to! That alone was scary. What he told Jared? Let him know that they were in danger, that Chad was a spy? Betrayal like this was beyond Jensen’s understanding.  
  
Jared, on the other hand, seemed to alter -- one step forward, two steps back. Now he was more distant than before. It had started on that day when Jeff visited him or maybe even earlier. That had been the point they’d been the closest, but Jared’s family hadn’t accepted Jensen, and besides there were some suspicions, Jensen was almost sure there were. And they hadn’t even been seeing each other that much in the last few days.  
  
And yesterday had been the last day of the second phase of the operation.  
  
Jensen should have headed back to the Institute. Jared hadn’t asked him to join the Group, hadn’t introduced him to anyone, hadn’t even told him he was a member of it. The orders had been clear -- Jensen was supposed to go back, if he hadn’t managed to get into the Group by two weeks.  
  
But his main objective was to get close to Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and that -- he’d achieved. Jared was as close to the Group’s leader as his own son would be. Chad had sure sent this message to the Headquarters, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t contacted Jensen afterward. There could have been various interpretations of his silence, but Jensen chose the simplest. The easiest. And the most suiting. That the Headquarters had given him a free hand with further decisions. That they accepted his longer stay in Vancouver, and his plan.  
  
He needed to see Jared.  
  
***  
  
They went straight to Jeffrey from the hospital. Jared was finally allowed to the new command office. He had demanded it two days ago, when he'd told them about his suspicions concerning Chad Michael Murray, but Jeffrey had said they still needed to be cautious. That it still hadn’t been determined that Chad’d been their mole, and even if – he’d been still out there, watching them, him, and could be dangerous.  
  
It wasn’t the case anymore.  
  
"He was relaying the intel downstairs," Misha reported in his low, husky voice. "I caught him before he managed to send this message," he handed Jeff a data-pad, "but I don't know about yesterday or the day before. So whatever he got from Jared, may be in their hands already.”  
  
Jeff nodded, staring at the pad. The data was most likely scrambled, but Nicky would take care of that. He hid it in his pocket for now.  
  
“We have news from Carson,” he changed the subject. “He got his hands on the plans for the ‘Intelligent bomb’. Wants to give them to us.”  
  
“Oh, please,” Jared couldn’t stop a snort. Carson was not the reliable source and he’d just proven that. Or rather was proven, by the fact that Chad had been implanted two months before Carson gave them this very precious intel. “You’re not going to trust him, are you?”  
  
“Yes, I am Jared.” Jeff fixed him with a very serious stare. “Leave us alone,” he said to everybody else in the room. Collins left immediately, Jim raised his eyebrows, shrugged and left too, Sandy wanted to ask something, but only opened her mouth, closed them, waved her hands and followed Jim. They stayed alone.  
  
Jeff walked from the desk filled with blueprints, to the window. At least it was larger than the one in the old storage house. And there was a view of the port.  
  
“Sorry, ‘bout . . . Chad,” Jeff started, an awkward attempt at friendliness.  
  
Jared blinked with surprise. Since when was Jeff showing any -- whatever -- interest? compassion? toward Jared’s friends? Or lovers? Or exes? Or was he sorry not because Chad had been shot, but because he’d turned out to be a traitor? If so, why hadn’t he said anything sooner? Like -- two days ago! Ah, right, because there’d been no proof.  
  
Still, Jeff mentioning Chad in context with Jared was odd and rocketed Jared’s mind into overdrive. He had been mulling over the same subjects recently anyway, and now could only draw one conclusion.  
  
He heard himself ask the question, “You think Jensen’s a spy too?” before he remembered that Jeff didn’t know _all_ the facts he knew. Jeff, as everybody else in the Group, thought it was Jared, _not_ Jensen that Chad had talked with, two days ago.  
  
Why Jared hid it, he couldn’t even tell himself.  
  
“Nah,” Jeff drawled, turning to Jared. “I don’t think he’s a spy. I thought that; I was almost convinced about it. Everything fitted. I mean the way he met you, the way he was around you all the time. All that. But he’s too soft. He’s no threat.”  
  
Those were exactly Jared’s thoughts. At least when he was trying to defend Jensen. Because the rest of the time he thought that meeting Jensen was strange. That Jensen was strange. That what he felt for him was strange, because he’d never felt such connection with anyone before.  
  
He had to stop thinking this! All this paranoia was created by Steve Carson and his damn intel about a mole. Which Jensen wasn’t, period. Because that was Chad, all along, and Carson was stupid! Jensen wasn’t a soldier.  
  
And that was bad actually.  
  
Because maybe Jensen could join them?--  
  
“He could what?” Jeff barked, and Jared realized that he actually asked the question aloud.  
  
He locked his gaze with Jeff’s and felt himself shrinking.  
  
“Maybe he’s not like Jim,” he whined. “Or Sandy. Or Misha. A soldier, I mean. But there is something about him-- He’s smart. And he had similar experiences as I did. Perhaps the purpose--”  
  
“Don’t.” Jeff cut his rambling off sharply. “Don’t mix your private life with your job Jared. I admit I didn’t like Chad, for the wrong reasons, but I was right nonetheless. Don’t misjudge this boy now, just because you like him.”  
  
Jared tried to understand what Jeff meant by that, other than that he didn’t want Jensen anywhere near. There was some weird logic in what he said.  
  
“It’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, anyway.” Jeff looked out of the window again.  
  
Jared held his breath. Of course. Damn, he should have known, this whole smalltalk was a diversion to weaken his resolve, because-- “I want you to go to Seattle and meet with Carson.”  
  
“You’re not serious?” Jared blurted, but Jeff didn’t even bat an eyelash.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked in an even tone.  
  
“Carson? I mean, Jeff, I know Sandy and Malik trust him, but c’mon! That thing with Chad?”  
  
Jeff only stared at him for a long while.  
  
“Are you questioning my orders?” he asked eventually and Jared knew he lost. “No? Good. Because I need you to start packing right away. I contacted Kane and he’s going to be in Vancouver tomorrow at dawn. You’re going with him when he heads back. You and Misha Collins.” Jeff looked up again and, before Jared managed to say something about Misha, added: “Not a word.”  
  
***  
  
The silence was disturbing. It wasn’t different than any other day, Jared’s flat wasn’t noisy, but as Jensen stood outside the door he could _feel_ the heaviness in the air behind them. He lifted his hand to knock and let it fall to his side.  
  
Something had changed.  
  
Something that made him very uneasy, very restless inside.  
  
He should be back home, part of him thought. Chad not contacting him could have meant thousand different things. And his orders’d been clear, and they hadn’t been changed. He disobeyed. He deserted.  
  
But that thought didn’t make him more scared, or more uneasy. Jensen probed his emotions carefully. No, desertion made him feel quite good in fact; it made him feel naughty, and he wanted to tell Jared about how he defied his . . . His parents, almost. He lifted his hand again, but stopped short of the flat surface of the door.  
  
It was the silence behind them that made him feel like this. It wasn’t the silence in the audible sense of the word, it was the silence of sensations, Jensen realized. Jared was there, but he was not his usual chipper self. Something had changed.  
  
Jensen heard the knocking before he realized that he was doing it. Without thinking. It was probably better this way; he’d never do it if he kept wondering whether he should and about what he sensed on the other side of the door.  
  
It opened after a few moments and Jensen faced Jared and his frustration and inner conflict.  
  
“What is it?” he asked before he thought better of it.  
  
“Nothing,” Jared shrugged and motioned him inside.  
  
One look at Jared’s room was enough to tell Jensen what was going on.  
  
“Are you leaving?”  
  
The cloths were scattered all over, a bag, half-full, rested beside the bed. Jared was packing.  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“In an hour.”  
  
“Were you going to tell me? Where are you going? When will you be back?” What was this thing Jensen was feeling? His heart convulsed, his breath hitched, he was dizzy.  
  
Jared couldn’t leave, not now, not ever. Jensen decided to stay, to betray all he was raised and trained to believe, just to stay with Jared, and Jared was leaving? He couldn’t do it!  
  
Apparently none of the storm raging inside his head showed on the outside, because Jared didn’t start worriedly asking what was wrong with Jensen, just scratched the back of his head and sighed.  
  
“I don’t think I was. Going to tell you I mean. I dunno,” he muttered, and Jensen, for the first time, felt he couldn’t read him, couldn’t sense him. “I’ll be back in a few days and as for where I’m going, I can’t tell you that.” Jared looked up and their eyes met.  
  
Their emotions clashed, clung. Jared’s hand wandered timidly to Jensen’s arm and squeezed it.  
  
“But when I’m back,” he added. “I’ll tell you everything.” Jared nodded to himself, made some decision that Jensen was completely oblivious to, although he felt he should know what it meant. “I’ll tell you all of it.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jared would be gone for three days. That’s what he said. It wasn’t even that long and Jensen couldn’t understand why it made him so frustrated. Why he needed to reassure himself so much? Three days, no biggie. Jared would be back, and they could simply continue from where they had been. Jensen knew that Jared was falling in love with him, just like he was supposed to. And he was willing to share his secrets; wasn’t that what he’d promised before he left? Despite all the mistakes Jensen had made initially, they’d kept coming back to each other, almost like it was inevitable. Like it had to happen no matter how much Jensen screwed up.  
  
He couldn’t help a chuckle. There were moments that he felt like Jared was manipulating _him_ into falling in love, not the other way around--  
  
Wait. Was that what it was? His heart started flipping somersaults in his chest. Was that what it was? Was he falling in love with Jared?  
  
Was that why he couldn’t imagine spending three days apart from the man?  
  
Just the memory of Jared’s overbearing personality, of his easy enthusiasm, of his smile, made Jensen ache with loneliness. The apartment was too vacant, too cold, not enough air to breathe. Jensen needed to be with people. He needed to at least feel _something_ , if he was short on Jared experience.  
  
He ended up in Crash. And it was as if he saw the place for the first time, or maybe something was different? They must have changed the lights, because it was bright like day. People sitting in the previously deep dark corners were clearly visible now, their cloths in all colors of the rainbow, their drinks sparkling, catching light like a prism. Chatting, laughing. The music was on a low volume and Jensen could clearly hear the people talk, although he couldn’t understand words, there were too many voices. And he could feel them, sense them, and it made him feel good. So good, he hadn’t felt like this in days. Maybe in years. Maybe ever.  
  
Was that weird?  
  
In the middle of the larger room, amidst the multicolored crowd, all bathed in lights blinking to the music, in the smoke rising from the floor, Mike and Tom were practicing a fully clothed form of Kama Sutra. Jensen smiled at them when they noticed him, waved and Mike was at his side in an instant.  
  
“Want a drink? C’mon, let’s take a seat!”  
  
They talked and laughed and after the second beer Mike dragged Jensen, amused and drunk and happy to the dance floor.  
  
“How are things with you and Jay?” His hot breath tickled Jensen’s earlobe, his eager hands held Jensen’s hips. He wanted to do things with Jensen, to Jensen, his intentions were clear and sharp and Jensen wasn’t sure if he wanted to refuse. He was eager to feel something more intense than desire. Mike’s desire that filled the empty spaces in his head and pounded in sync with fervent music, made his bones vibrate inside his flesh, made his mind spin and his intestines jerk as if the very core of his existence, his soul maybe, wanted to leap out and become pure energy.  
  
He closed his eyes and the vision of Mike’s face faded in a surge of light, sounds of the club, smells, even Mike’s hand under his shirt faded. Disappeared. He breathed in clear, salty air.  
  
And then he saw Jared’s face. Jared’s shining golden eyes. And Jared’s smile, so huge, so bright.  
  
He wasn’t here. Jensen felt his mind flying away, literally leaving the constraints of the body behind and reaching out to the man he loved.  
  
Loved . . .  
  
***  
  
Once they crossed the border, and drove well into the woods, Christian Kane stopped his truck and opened the tight casing located between the wheels of the cargo trailer. Its placing was ridiculously un-stealthy. Jared couldn’t believe no one would search a big metal box hanging from the under-carriage, but Kane gave him a look -- he was one ugly bastard -- and Misha Collins murmured that the smuggler had never been caught, and it had to be enough of a reassurance.  
  
Apparently they were both right because Kane transported them to the Confederation without an incident.  
  
Still, Jared was pissed. He climbed out of the can with slight difficulty and started rubbing his stiff limbs. He hated constraints. He was not claustrophobic, but had believed he might start feeling like it any minute, if he was forced to stay in this _thing_ any longer. Misha didn’t seem disturbed in the slightest. Jared found it hard to believe that the man, who maybe was not the tallest in the world, but was no midget either, managed to get inside with his six-feet-four form. He’d have to ask the guy about any previous circus experience.  
  
Meanwhile-- “Tell me something--” he turned to the ugly smuggler and decided to go for frank and friendly, even if a little dishonest. “--Christian. Do you smuggle people from Confederation in this can as well?” Alright, maybe not _a little_ dishonest. Maybe his friendliness was very dishonest. But he needed to vent.  
  
“Why would I do that?” Their driver shrugged, preoccupied with closing the lid of the can. “They can cross legally, can’t they?” He didn’t look up at Jared, and Jared decided to read it as avoidance -- a sign of a lie.   
  
“Bull--” he started and received a smack upside the head. Looked around startled.  
  
Misha Collins stood behind him, brow furrowed, and mouthed, “shut up!” Oh right, Collins could have had enough of him already, no surprise there. They’d spent like two hours pressed close together and Jared couldn’t stop babbling. He was uncomfortable, nervous, and with his thoughts running mile a minute, he couldn’t stop himself from fretting. There was a moment he was certain Kane would sell them to the other side, if not for money, then because he was really siding with the evil sonsofbitches. Misha had barely said a word during that time and it was mostly, “hush, they might hear you.” Jared had been shutting his mouth for three minutes then. The longest he managed was the whole ten minutes while the engine was turned off at the crossing.  
  
So maybe Misha was right in trying to get him to shut his pie-hole, but Jared’s constrained energy demanded to be released.  
  
They climbed up into the cab, Misha providently taking position in the middle and, as they moved onto the highway again, Jared repeated his statement from earlier, “Bullshit,” with a lot of satisfaction that Collins didn’t manage to catch him this time. He beamed at his furrowed brow, and nudged surprised Kane behind Collins’s arm. “I bet not all of the Confederates can cross the border just because they want to.”  
  
“What is it you’re asking about?” The driver turned to him with a warning in his gray eyes.  
  
Jared stopped for a minute. Yes, what was he really asking about? Oh, he knew, but it was ridiculous and stupid, because Chad Michael Murray most likely had a legal passport and all the permits needed to travel wherever he wanted. But still--  
  
“I’m asking,” he said coldly, “if you ever smuggled someone from the Confederation, up to Canada?”   
  
“What if I did?”  
  
“It would make you a traitor.”  
  
The air in the cab tensed like a jelly. Stupid comparison and it made Jared hungry on top of everything else. Collins sighed, but before he managed to patch up whatever damage Jared inflicted, the breaks of the truck screeched and it skidded to a full stop.  
  
“Get out,” Kane uttered. “Both of you.”  
  
“You were supposed to--” Misha started.  
  
“Get you across the border.”  
  
“Get us to Seattle!”  
  
“See those buildings? That’s Seattle. Now get out.” There were two small houses at the side of the road. The most farthest outskirts of the city.  
  
“We’ve had a deal that you’d get us to the center,” Misha tried once more.  
  
“For the second batch that you haven’t paid me yet. And now I don’t wan’em!”  
  
“What about the return,” Jared chimed in. He probably shouldn’t have.  
  
Kane closed his eyes, shook his head, and breathed out through clenched teeth.  
  
“Find yourselves another moron.” Then turned to them and shouted, “Now out!”  
  
They scrambled out of the cab and Kane slammed the door behind them and drove away leaving only dust in his wake.  
  
  
They walked for a few miles, caught a lift for another few and by the afternoon they were inside the city, but still very far away from the Harbor on Elliot Bay, where Steve Carson was stationed for the next two days, and where they were supposed to meet him this very evening.  
  
It wasn’t likely to happen now, and Jared felt distinctly guilty about it. If he hadn’t pissed Kane off, the smuggler would have transported them to the center hours ago.  
  
“But we can meet Carson tomorrow, right?” he tried.  
  
“Yes,” Misha replied calmly. Jared couldn’t get it, how this man was so calm all the time. He would be fuming and throwing punches if the situation was reversed. Hell, he wanted to punch himself! “It would be safer in the evening, when the canteen is full, though. But we’ll figure out something. We’ll worry about it when we get there.”  
  
They kept walking. Stopped for a dinner, caught another lift. The streets were getting emptier and emptier as the sky was darkening and when they entered the long bridge, around three more hours from their destination, they realized they were the only pedestrians left in the world. Or in Seattle anyway. A car passed them driving fast in the opposite direction, the driver shouting something through the open window. They kept walking, but the creepy apprehension made even Jared silent.  
  
When they were half way through the bridge, a clock bell somewhere in the distance started ringing hours. Misha froze and Jared, holding his breath, stopped right behind him. They counted sounds reverberating in the silence of the night, “boom, boom, boom”. One, two, three . . . Ten. It was ten o’clock.  
  
Misha turned to Jared. “Curfew,” he said, and Jared thought he should have guessed. It was happening every now and again, curfew order was enacted in Vancouver as well two, three times a year. “We gotta get off the bridge!” Misha reminded and they started walking as fast as they could. Then running.  
  
When they finally found a narrow side road in a housing district, they were panting with exertion.  
  
“It’s not a good place to hide,” Jared noticed. The street was narrow and hidden from view, so it was not as bad as the bridge where they could have been shot from the distance. If a patrol happened to be walking nearby, though, there was no place to run. The fences were tall, the lamps bright, and it was more than probable that each property had some sort of alarm system.  
  
They agreed that they had to risk walking a little more toward the center, and maybe find some hide-out. Damn! Why hadn’t they thought about it sooner! Why hadn’t they known? They had no idea when the curfew for Seattle was enacted, or what exactly it was; if any person caught outside was to be arrested, or killed on the spot. For them it made no difference, really, because with cogged IDs, it was only a matter of time that they would be recognized as illegal immigrants and sentenced to death anyway. Damn Kane! He could have at least given them heads-up.   
  
It was creepy to walk such dead empty streets, with only the sound of their boots hitting the concrete for company. Not even a stray cat crossed their path, only the wind hummed in the tree tops above their heads. They kept looking behind their backs every five steps, each time expecting to see the dreadful patrol. At each crossroads their hearts sped up, as they peaked out the fence and crossed as fast as they could. One time they saw two soldiers on a parallel street, walking in the opposite direction. Stayed crouched under a fence for over five minutes after that, knowing how close call it was -- still might be.   
  
After half an hour of such sneaking and hiding, and praying that they were not found, they reached a city park.  
  
“Finally,” Misha said, not rising his voice above a whisper.  
  
Jared wanted to agree. There were bushes all over, they could sneak in and sleep through till morning. Curfew should be over around six a.m., then they could continue their trek. The park was the perfect hiding place and they were both tired. The last half an hour of anxiousness and fear did them in, and Jared really wanted to agree.  
  
But he couldn’t.  
  
When he thought about spending the night in the bushes he felt such sudden, irrational fear, that he knew there was no force that could make him go in there.  
  
Misha carefully scanned the street they were about to cross and signaled for Jared to follow him, but the taller man didn’t move. He was like rooted to the spot.  
  
“C’mon! What’s with you?” Misha gazed at him, wide-eyed. It had to be the first time he exhibited any stronger emotion, even if it was not anger, but a surprise. “We can’t stay here!”  
  
“Then let’s go further,” Jared blurted.  
  
“Are you nuts? We can’t stay out on the streets either. We were lucky so far, but sooner or later some patrol will get us. We can’t walk all night!”  
  
“We can’t stay in this park.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
This was ridiculous. It was irrational and made no sense. Jared wasn’t even afraid of spiders or mice or rats, it was not it. He was simply afraid and wouldn’t go to the park, period.  
  
Misha must have realized how serious the situation was, because he shook his head and they took the longer route around the area. As soon as they turned into the road leading toward the center and left the green land behind their backs Jared’s stupid fear vanished like it never existed. He stopped for a moment, look around and thought about going back and spending the night there anyway. The fear did not return as he half-expected it to, but Misha was walking purposefully ahead, and Jared really didn’t want to make him angrier. The shorter man may have not displayed his feelings, but he must have been pissed.  
  
Two crossroads farther they found a bridge and a good enough spot underneath to squeeze in and wait through the rest of the night. Jared stood guard first, and couldn’t gather what’d gotten into him at the park. He was never one to believe in premonitions and such shit. He was just being stupid, that was all. Next time he would listen to Misha, he promised himself.   
  
***  
  
Jensen couldn’t remember how he got back home. He realized he was cold, so cold he shivered and his teeth were clattering. He sensed boredom from the apartment next door; he knew that a couple a block away was arguing, even though he couldn’t hear voices; and he felt someone missing . . . Jared. Right here, and it was not him, and that emotion was so raw, so simple. Primeval.  
  
The sound of a dog’s wail made him snap out and look around, and Jensen realized he was not home at all; he was outside of Jared’s apartment. And that wailing dog was Harley, at the landlady’s place on the first floor, and it was him who was missing his master. It was strange, sensing animal’s emotion like this. Jensen wasn’t sure it was normal.  
  
The truth was he had no idea what was normal and what wasn’t anymore.  
  
He could swear he was with Jared last night. Jared was in danger, there were people who were going to kill him closing in on him and Jensen tried to warn him. He vaguely remembered he’d made Jared afraid of them and now he couldn’t believe it actually happened. He couldn’t make people feel something, this was not possible! He could sense their emotions, he could modulate his own behavior based on their true reactions, and he could manipulate them this way, but never force them to actually feel something.  
  
It must have been a dream.  
  
Or he was going crazy.  
  
What was it Eric said? That being outside for so long, without meditation and clearing up his head . . . that would fuck him up. But he didn’t feel fucked up!  
  
A little weird, but not fucked up.  
  
A rational part of his mind, as weak as it was right now, reminded him about a contact he had here, in Vancouver. A girl, what was her name? MacKenzie, just like the river in Canada he’d supposedly lived by. Maybe it was a code-word?  
  
“What are you doing here?” someone interrupted his thoughts. A girl, Jensen knew her, Jared’s friend, that nicer one.  
  
What was he doing? He really didn’t know.  
  
“Have you spent the whole night here? Come on in, you must be freezing.”   
  
She opened the door and helped him to his feet. She was concerned, really concerned and surprised and kind of amused for Jared’s sake. She thought Jensen must have been in love or something.  
  
“Yeah,” Jensen murmured and she turned to him, startled.  
  
“You said something?”  
  
Should he tell her? He found himself uncertain of how she would react, what she would do.  
  
“Do you want coffee?” she asked. Jensen couldn’t remember her name. “Jared left, you know--” and he isn’t coming back--  
  
Did she say that?  
  
Or did he only think it?  
  
Jensen felt nauseous.  
  
It was Morgan! Morgan sent Jared away, because of him. He will never see Jared again, ever, because he fucked up, because he told Jared about Chad--


	11. Chapter 11

The military harbor was out of reach. Tall, wired fences, guards at twenty-yard intervals, patrols inside and within a fifty-yard perimeter outside of the fence. They didn’t even get close enough to take a good look, just glanced and turn tails under the scrutinizing gaze of two sentries.  
  
It was not a big deal though. The canteen where they were supposed to meet Carson was not inside the military harbor. It was a diner, really, named ‘Logan’s’ and located right outside of the commercial port that consisted of two docks and a few warehouses. The port looked like a poor cousin attached to the highly developed, large and intimidating military facility. Before the war the proportions were quite the opposite and all the depots, railroad terminals, cranes and transport tools that were not required for the military purposes now stood abandoned, rusted and tarnished.  
  
There weren’t many people working at the commercial harbor these days but the diner seemed to be frequently visited and by large crowds. Now, at ten in the morning it was empty, but a few waiters were still cleaning up the post-breakfast mess.  
  
“You think the military eat here?”  
  
“Not the regular personnel, from what I heard. But the Fleet, yeah.” Misha pulled at Jared’s arm and led him outside of the diner. “Best if we don’t hang around here all day; Carson’s not gonna come earlier than lunch, perhaps only in the evening. There are some games here and that’s when even the marines show up.” They were supposed to be here last night, Jared remembered. Well, better late than never, right? At least he hoped so.  
  
“Let’s split up,” Misha said. “Let’s meet up here at one p.m., lunchtime. Don’t do anything silly, okay.” The shorter man looked intensely into Jared’s eyes and Jared felt strangely small. Scolded like a kid. “No ventures near the military harbor just go downtown, pretend you’re shopping or something. You hear me?”  
  
How did Misha know Jared was planning to visit the military harbor again? He nodded of course, promised his companion he would be careful, and yes, he intended to be _extra_ careful, because, yeah, he was going to take another look at the war-ships.  
  
Who knew what he would see and how useful it would be later? It would be a waste of time to “pretend to do shopping”.  
  
Truth, the most important part was contacting their informer, getting the intel and going back home but Jared was nothing if not creative. That included gaining as much from the situation at hand as he could.  
  
He didn’t get to see much, unfortunately. There was no way on Earth he could sneak in close enough to even see a wharf, not to mention a real ship. Having seen a few patrols from afar -- and most likely having been seen by them too -- he finally bumped into two heavily armed marines.  
  
“I’m looking for ‘Logan’s’,” he managed to articulate.  
  
“It’s there,” the marine responded gruffly, pointing his gun in the general direction of the commercial port. Then the other guy turned Jared around, made him face the mainland and poked the barrel of his gun in Jared’s ribs. “Move!”  
  
Jared moved. His heart beat so fast he was afraid it was going to break free from his ribcage. He walked at first, glanced behind his back once and the moment he was out of the sentries’ sight, he started running. He only stopped at the fence separating him from the railroad. He wasn’t really sure what direction he should go now and it made him quite angry. He shouldn’t act like this; he was a trained professional, not worse than these two who banished him from there. But he didn’t have a gun on him, didn’t have any backup, wasn’t here to fight. Misha was right, he shouldn’t have ventured anywhere near the war zone. He had to go back now, go into town maybe, pretend he was shopping until lunch. Yeah, he probably should.  
  
First he had to assess his position. Jared looked around. The railroad tracks run, infinite, to the left and to the right. Some rusted cars stood there. On the other side Jared saw a parking lot for trucks most likely, in the better times when all this was being used. Only one truck stood there now and Jared blinked and furrowed his brow trying to focus his eyes on the thing. It was familiar. Well, all trucks looked more or less the same, but it had a big metal box hanging from the under-carriage. Or so it looked like -- that thing between the truck’s wheels -- from the distance. Jared had only seen one truck that had something like this. Or at least the only something like this he’d ever paid attention too, because now that he gazed at the truck from that far, it seemed as innocent as any other. Maybe they all really had big metal boxes hanging from under-carriage?  
  
Jared really, really wanted to go and see this thing closer but he’d have to climb the fence, cross the railroad and climb another fence. It was late. Jared glanced at his watch and realized it was noon already, he had one hour to go back and find the ‘Logan’s’ diner. He really, really didn’t want to piss Misha off any more than he already had. And that thing didn’t really look like Chris Kane’s truck any more. Really, it didn’t.  
  
***  
  
The girl’s name was Nicky and she was worried about Jensen. She’d told him that! As if he didn’t know. Of course he couldn’t tell her that he knew so at least now he _could_ know because she had told him. He had told her she didn’t have to worry, didn’t need to worry. Or hadn’t he?  
  
“You don’t need to worry,” he said. Again? Slowly, paying attention to each word, making sure they come out of his mouth.  
  
“You said that already.” Nicky smiled placing a cup of hot black coffee in front of him. But she was wary, watching him, observing every move, suspicious as if he might explode or start dancing hula.  
  
Jensen looked up at Nicky and the wariness in her eyes misted away, turned into a bright false smile. He smiled too. He had to make her stop worrying. Had to! What was Nicky worried about? Why was she angry at him?   
  
She was angry at him? That was a new one!  
  
Jensen tried to focus, to dig deeper into her mind, find her purpose but she was slipping away. Fluctuating. Her body shifted near him and her anger edged away.  
  
“You two got real close, didn’t you?” Replaced by sadness.  
  
“Yeah, I love him.” The clarity of that thougth was dazzling. But Jensen didn’t know again if he said that. He must have because Nicky’s anger spiked up and made him nauseous.   
  
“Just when he found . . .” she muttered. She was not angry at Jensen! But then she scrutinized him again. “Why are you here?” If she only knew!  
  
“I want to be with him.”  
  
“Why did you come to Vancouver?”  
  
“To make him fall in love with me.”  
  
“Are you for real?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You. Came to Vancouver. To make him fall in love with you?”  
  
It was too close to the truth. Jensen had to be careful what he was saying, he had to be careful what he was thinking because he found himself unable to hold his thoughts for himself. He had to tell her . . . What did he have to tell her? And why? He had to be near Jared, it was the truth but he wouldn’t get there if she knew he was a spy.  
  
With a tinge of surprise Jensen realized he didn’t care the littlest bit what his superiors would do with him and he found himself smiling, nearly jumping with joy. He was free! He had his own desire! A desire to be with Jared. Overwhelming.  
  
“I don’t know why I came here,” he whispered. “To start a new life perhaps? The one I was living--” What was it? What was it _supposed to_ be? A trapper at Mackenzie River? “I can hardly remember now.” Oh, he was orphaned, like Jared. “My parents died, during the war. I was raised by my uncle, a good man, but he had his own family. I wanted to find something and I found him.” At least the last part was true.  
  
“Your parents died?” Nicky’s fingers on his arm burned. “Just like his--”  
  
“I know.”  
  
It was a lie meant to link them together, meant to make Jared trust him, meant to give them a similar purpose.  
  
“Did you ever--” Nicky’s past wasn’t any different, Jensen discovered with surprise. Wasn’t their all? Weren’t they all damaged by that distant war in some way? “Don’t you want to avenge them?”  
  
No I don’t, Jensen thought, looking straight into her eyes and willing her to hear that, although he reined his voice into silence. No I don’t and it’s a lie, Nicky. I might endanger you all.  
  
But will I ever see Jared again, if I don’t? If Morgan sent him away and won’t let him return, how can I ever see him again if not by risking your safety, his safety, Morgan’s life?  
  
“How?” he asked, his voice breaking in fake helplessness. “I don’t know who killed them.”  
  
“You know _what_ killed them, though. The war did. And you know who caused the war.”  
  
“They are far too powerful.”  
  
“I know someone who knows how to defeat them. Do you want to meet him?”  
  
No, Nicky I don’t, Jensen thought. And you don’t want me to meet him either.  
  
***  
  
“There.” Misha spotted Steve Carson first. The Lieutenant looked resigned and anxious and the moment he saw the two men approach him he seemed to want to be anywhere but here.  
  
“Can we have a beer in this place?” Misha asked the code question.  
  
Steve dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head briefly. As he looked up his eyes swept through the crowd.   
  
“They know,” he whispered barely moving his lips. “Let’s get out.”  
  
He turned away and started walking before either Misha or Jared caught up. They followed him immediately and Jared noticed that someone, in turn, followed them. Shit!  
  
Carson left through the side door and, as Misha and Jared followed him, they turned up on an abandoned narrow alley. A cold breeze from the river made Jared shiver. It started drizzling.  
  
“I’m plucked,” Steve turned to them suddenly then asked in accusatory tone, “Why didn’t you show up last night?” Jared and Misha exchanged glances but Steve shook his head. “Nah, they probably suspected something earlier and I was kind of freaking out when I couldn’t find you. Must have made a mistake.” His head shot up and his eyes focused on the alley momentarily. “Let’s get out of here!” He pulled them in a side passage-way.  
  
He was almost running but Jared had no trouble following him with his long gait. Steve started talking.  
  
“This weapon, it’s not a weapon at all. These are soldiers. Trained in some sort of mind control like we have never seen before. All psychic abilities you could dream of, bending spoons and shit. Only it’s not bending spoons but blowing bombs with their will alone.”  
  
“You’re bullshitting us, right?” Jared cut in. This was ridiculous.  
  
“Am I?” Steve was in his face again, angry, scared. “You have one of them up there, in Vancouver, as we speak.”  
  
“What?” Jared exchanged glances with Misha.  
  
“A psychic,” Steve seethed. “Aimed at you Jared, I’m not kidding.”  
  
Oh, right. The lieutenant had told them about that spy already. Chad Michael Murray.  
  
“Not a threat anymore.” Jared pushed Carson away from himself. “He’s been plucked. Thanks for the tip by the way.”  
  
“He has?” Steve looked from Jared to Misha with surprise, then nodded once, turned and kept on walking. “That’s a relief,” he added in a whisper.  
  
“Why aren’t we being followed?” Misha asked suddenly, looking around.  
  
“They don’t need to follow us.” Steve looked at him sadly. “I have this thing, a tracking device, somewhere in me, not even sure where. They know exactly where I am.  
  
***  
  
Nicky let him stay at Jared’s place for the next two days. She hadn’t said it would be two days when she’d been leaving, she’d said she’d be back as soon as she could. Soon turned out to be two days. No, Jensen wasn’t counting every minute.  
  
“Jeffrey was reluctant,” she said instead of hello, “but he agreed. He wants to meet you. But you have to hurry.  
  
She was excited, so excited. Happy. She loved Jared, Jensen could tell and she believed that Jensen would somehow change things for the better for her friend. For her little adopted brother. She was probably hoping Jensen would influence Morgan somehow. Was she crazier than him? Jensen realized he was beaming at her and she was beaming back. Her hopefulness was contagious.   
  
“We have to clean up the apartment first.” She pointed at the boxes she had brought with her. “We’re not coming back here.” And neither is he.  
  
Jared didn’t have many belongings. All it took were two boxes loaded onto Nicky’s truck and two bags that were to be disposed. Jensen knew exactly what items Jared would want preserved and his intuition agreed with what Nicky picked. A pair of good running shoes, some books, half-blind teddy bear excavated from the bottom of the closet along with a box of photographs. That and the old dog Harley.  
  
“He should put him to sleep,” Nicky said sadly.  
  
“Would you?” Jensen asked, knowing the answer. And knowing her remembering about it would make her understand why the dog was still around. All the memories of Jared’s childhood.  
  
“He’s stupid,” she said nonetheless.  
  
As they drove to wherever he was supposed to meet Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Nicky was explaining him what to expect, what Jeffrey wants to know and how he should behave and what he should and shouldn’t do but Jensen wasn’t listening to her. He knew all her advices were in vain. He knew Jeffrey played her as he was going to play Jensen. Jeffrey Dean Morgan was far too intelligent to trust a stranger. He convinced Nicky that he was going to welcome Jared’s boyfriend like a son, but--  
  
When they were stopped by armed men at a deserted crossroads in the industrial district of Vancouver, when one of the men threw a stinking scratching bag over Jensen’s head and when they pushed him into the trunk of a car, it was Nicky who was shocked speechless, not Jensen. At least -- he was sure of it -- they let her go quickly. She was not their enemy but apparently Jeffrey Dean Morgan did consider Jensen Ackles a threat.  
  
***  
  
Misha knew more about Seattle than he initially let on. Apparently Jeffrey chose him for this mission for a reason. He only told them to fucking hurry, then led them to a half-ruined building, into the cellars, and . . . into a sterile surgery room.  
  
“Like you said, ey?” a bearded guy eyed him, not even trying to hide resentment.  
  
“You cleaned up, I see?”  
  
“It was a fair warning I guess.”  
  
Misha instructed Steve to lay on the table and the bearded guy run a device over his body. It beeped over his shank.  
  
“You knew Carson would have something like this?” Jared couldn’t hold back his curiosity as he watched the bearded man pull out surgical tools. Misha nodded in response. “And you visited this guy when we separated, right? Before lunch.” Misha gazed at Jared angrily and nodded again. The bearded guy injected Carson with something that made him go slack, then cut his lower leg open with a scalpel. Jared swallowed the nausea. “And you knew the bad-guys would follow us here eventually, so you told him to clear the place?” he shook his head. “Clever.”  
  
“Shut up, Jared.”  
  
Jared thought about shutting up but watching the bearded guy insert his fingers in rubber gloves inside Carson’s flesh was disturbing. His brain demanded some kind of distraction. Besides, always being a step behind Misha . . .  
  
“I found Chris Kane’s truck.”  
  
It proved to be a point of great interest to the older colleague.  
  
The bearded surgeon cut out the chip from Steve’s shank, causing him a massive bleeding and a lot of pain, considering the top priority was doing it fast.  
  
“They know the moment this thing is separated from the body, so you gotta disappear. Me too.”  
  
They parted ways immediately, Jared and Misha carrying a limp, whining Steve between them. They stole a car and Jared drove toward the railroad station as fast as he could. Misha said they had to get Steve out of Seattle and do it quickly. Chris Kane, if he agreed to transport them through the border, was the best means to achieve that. Jared hoped he did not make a mistake. That this was really Chris’s truck.  
  
It was.  
  
And Chris Kane said he’s not taking Jared with him.  
  
“It’s okay,” Misha responded to that. “He’s not coming anyway.” He then turned to Jared and handed him an envelope. “These are your orders from Morgan. See you south, Jared.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was cold but feeling cold didn’t bother him; he was capable of turning his senses off at will.  
  
It was also damp and incessant dripping somewhere behind his left arm was driving him mad. He could have -- should have! -- turned off hearing as well but what would he have left then? Smell was as unpleasant: moldy and stifling. Touch? Grazing of ropes against his wrists and ankles, pull in twisted joints, hard chair under his ass and itching above his right brow where he had no way of reaching. Taste? The inside of a dirty bag tasted as awful as it smelled although smell picked up on the outside of this small confinement as well. Smell made it clear he was in a basement of some sort.  
  
If he turned it all off, he’d have nothing left, because the inside of the dirty bag didn’t bear much information for the eyes either.  
  
Oh, he had emotions of course! Jensen could sense disgust, curiosity, anxiousness all around him. Hatred. And that longing in one of the guards -- somehow Jensen knew his name was Tim -- to pull the trigger. To kill the foul confederate traitor. Tim’s silent begging for his commander to give the order.  
  
But.  
  
The commander didn’t consider Jensen a traitor.  
  
Jeffrey Dean Morgan himself.  
  
Jensen couldn’t sense him anywhere near and he was certain he would have recognized the man immediately without seeing, smelling or hearing him. Instead, he sensed the leader’s presence in everything around. Morgan was in the thoughts of the guards; he was the one who’d planned this assault and -- Jensen hoped he was right about that one -- he was going to interrogate the prisoner.  
  
He was stalling; it was a part of his sleazy plan. It was supposed to make Jensen scared, make him nervous, reckless. Force him to make a mistake and maybe spill his guts. Jensen knew all the intentions of his oppressors as if they were written in black ink on a white paper. He also knew what he would do with this knowledge.  
  
He would be just what they expected: a boy from the north. A boy unaccustomed to fight, easily intimidated, frightened. A boy in love, wanting nothing more than to be reunited with his lover. At all cost. He had to convince Morgan that his feelings were genuine and, considering Morgan’s own feelings for Jared Padalecki all Jensen had to do was tune-in to the emotions of the interrogator. Jensen wasn’t upset by this at all. He was thrilled! He was high on adrenaline and something else maybe.  
  
Last time he and Morgan met? Jensen was knocked on his ass by the other man’s intense personality; Morgan didn’t even have to say much and it affected Jensen’s empathic senses to the point where he was a blabbering fool. It wouldn’t happen now. Now Jensen was ready. Focused. He couldn’t wait for the confrontation.  
  
Jeffrey was coming.  
  
He intended to surprise his captive; he was silent save for thumping of his boots and opening-screech-closing of the door; no different than any of the guards in that he didn’t say a word and ordinary prisoner would not have a clue this was The Man. Jensen knew. Jensen sensed this big, enormous personality and his heart started hammering in his chest in anticipation of the encounter.  
  
Jeffrey’s attention was focused like a lamp. Blinding.  
  
“What is it you want?” he whispered right next to Jensen’s ear and Jensen jerked in surprise. He didn’t hear -- and didn’t sense -- Morgan coming so near.  
  
He schooled his emotions. A breath in and a breath out. He wasn’t going to give Morgan the upper hand!  
  
He immersed himself in his oppressor’s mind. There were things Morgan was feeling that Jensen had trouble identifying. Mixed emotions. Hate, fear, wonder, sympathy, antipathy, jealousy, hurt, protectiveness . . . about Jensen? About Jared but about Jensen too. He didn’t want to hurt his prisoner. He knew Jared would never forgive him for that.  
  
Jared.  
  
Jeffrey’s longing was physically hurtful, like a burning rod straight through Jensen’s heart. He opened himself up for Jeffrey’s feelings and when he caught one similar to his own they multiplied, magnified, forced tears out of his eyes and a whine out of his mouth. Jared . . .  
  
“Jared?” Jeffrey asked. “You want Jared?”  
  
Yes. Jensen had intended for it to sound truthful but as he discovered right now, it was a plain _truth_. “Yes,” he whimpered. “I want Jared.” He lost. He had no fight left in him . . . “All I want is to be with him. I’m not a fighter you know?” His alias wasn’t a fighter but real J wasn’t a fighter either. He was a scout. “I don’t know how to fight. But I want to . . . like Nicky said. Just to be with him.” Tears prickled his eyes. “Please--”   
  
***  
  
Jared stood at the parking lot long after the dust, which was left in the wake of Chris’s truck driving away, settled down. In his hand he clutched the envelope containing a letter from Jeffrey. A letter handed to him by Misha Collins, a newcomer in the Group.  
  
That alone was like slap in the face. The newcomer knew more than him -- Jeffrey’s right hand! Apparently he was not as important to Jeff as he’d thought. What was it Collins had said? “See you south”? So he apparently knew what the envelope contained as well! Jared glanced at it trying to read through the paper, to know what’s inside without the act of opening it. He wanted to go back to Vancouver, throw it in Jeffrey’s face and tell him he doesn’t accept orders that are not said to his face!  
  
He couldn’t do it.  
  
He had his orders and he had to follow them. He couldn’t endanger the whole big operation -- because, apparently, it was the Big Operation time. Jared had known since forever that Jeffrey had planned to hit the beast in its heart one day and the heart of the Confederation was down south -- in Los Angeles. It was always in an unspecified future though. Jared had always thought he’d be the first to know if they were about to make a move.  
  
He looked at the envelope again. There had to be an explanation therein, right?  
  
Jared hoped it would be but he didn’t really believe it; explanations were not Jeffrey’s style. He was not disappointed when he only found two pieces of paper inside. One of them said “Be a messenger for a city” and another one was a Pellegrino wine label. The “city” riddle was easy if one knew the origin of some names and Jeffrey taught Jared a few. The word “angellos” meant “messenger” in Greek. Messenger, City; City of Messengers, City of Angels, Los Angeles. Jeffrey expected him to go to Los Angeles so his suspicion that the Big Plans were set in motion was correct. What was the Pellegrino wine about though? He’d have to find out when he got there.  
  
When he got there? Jared surprised himself with a realization that he didn’t doubt this order for one second. Not that he’d ever doubted Jeffrey’s order, not that he’d ever disobeyed but he was so bitter, so angry when Misha handed him that letter, he wanted to bolt, he wanted to just throw it all away. Then he read those few words and all was forgotten.  
  
He had probably been prepared for it. It was not the first time he was pushed to the side track after all. He had been away from the main happenings from the moment they’d been told about a spy aiming for him, Jeffrey had to take all the precautions necessary. Even before though . . . Jared remembered clearly how, after Jeffrey had injured his ribs, he’d thought he would fill in for him and had been proven wrong. Samantha had known more about Flagstaff, Nicky had known about some Chinese doctor. Jim had probably known everything -- if anyone had -- but he’d not acted upon it. Jared had been told his part and it had to be enough, Jeffrey didn’t share his power -- which was probably for the best.  
  
A distant sound of a clock bell pulled Jared out of those unhappy thoughts. It boomed ten times and Jared felt cold. Curfew. If he was caught standing here . . .  
  
He found the lighter in the pocket of his pants and burned Jeffrey’s note along with the envelope. He kept the wine label -- perhaps there was something on it that he missed initially, he’d have to find out.  
  
Then he tried to find a place to hide.  
  
He was in an industrial district; there were plenty of old abandoned warehouses all around, there had to be a place to hide for the night. Jared went a few blocks away from the parking lot, just in case he was caught anyway. He wouldn’t want the enemy to link him with any transports from the city. The entry to the first warehouse was locked and Jared didn’t want to cause any noise. Another one was open but completely empty. Any person staying in there would be noticed the moment somebody came in. The third one was okay but it was occupied.  
  
Jared learned about it too late and in a rather unpleasant way.  
  
***  
  
“Please--” Jensen begged, knowing that he failed, he lost. He was not strong enough and now he’d never see Jared again. _That_ was what he really needed, not opposing Jeffrey, not gaining intel for the Confederation for sure. He needed Jared.  
  
Morgan was silent and when Jensen pulled his head out of his own misery for a moment to wonder about the interrogator’s silence, he felt something strange within the man. He felt that this great awesome leader of the Morgan’s Group, the organization that might change the political balance of the Northern America -- was melting inside! He _wanted to_ believe his prisoner . . .   
  
Jensen could use it! He could play on it. He wondered how much he could influence someone else. He’d never tried before, not directly, but if he could really _make them_ do something? It would only require a little push if Jeffrey already wanted to . . .  
  
“Believe me,” Jensen whispered, fixating on Jeffrey, forcing him to obey.  
  
Jeffrey believed. Jensen could sense that feeling blooming like a flower in Jeffrey’s mind. Beautiful, quiet, it’s fragrance entrancing. Delicate. Too delicate.  
  
It grew on a desert of betrayed trust and failed hopes. Jensen saw to the very foundation of Jeffrey’s psyche in that one brief moment, when he relished in an illusion of a well accomplished goal, and realized the extent of his mistake.  
  
Jeffrey trusted no one. He had friends, colleagues with whom he shared the responsibility for the Group. He probably even believed he trusted one or two of them. He had Jared whom he loved like a son and whom he trusted the least of all the people surrounding him, simply because of that love -- he knew that if he were ever to fail the Group it would be because of Jared. Jensen couldn’t believe how -- accidentally -- right Chad had been choosing Jared as his target, even if the spy hadn’t known how important Jared really was.  
  
Unlike Jared however and unlike Nicky, it wasn’t war that made Jeffrey so distrusting. He had been like this long before and Jensen realized it was that ability to never trust anyone, to never get close to anyone that allowed him to survive the worst of times and end up where he was now -- the most dangerous, the most wanted enemy of the Confederation.  
  
It was this distrust that won over the newly forming belief and crushed it with vicious spite.  
  
“Why?” Jeffrey pulled the bag from Jensen’s head before the prisoner could even sense that intent and prepare himself for it. His neck stung from the rapid move, his senses overloaded.  
  
He was face to face, eye to eye, with Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s rage.  
  
“Why should I believe you?”  
  
“Because,” Jensen’s voice shook and not from pretended fear. No, the feeling that engulfed him was overwhelming, primeval, _real_. “Because I’m not lying.” He was not lying, he was not. He intended to lie but it all turned out to be true! He really wasn’t a fighter. He really wanted to become one, for Jared. He really wanted to . . . “I would do anything for him. I made a decision, I already--” How could he make Jeffrey see the extent of sacrifice he would make? “I would betray the people who trained me for him,” he whispered knowing that voicing it, this thing that he had done already, back then, exposing Chad to them, that voicing it meant making it real, tangible. “I would betray the people who sent me here. I have already betrayed them. I am betraying them just now.” He saw Jeffrey’s pupils grow wide with realization. He felt Jeffrey’s horror. “It’s a gift I’m offering you for Jared.”  
  
Jeffrey pulled away from him, still staring at him, still processing what he’d just heard. Shaking his head ever so slightly.  
  
“Give me that gift,” he finally said in a whisper as well. “Give me all of it.”  
  
“Chad Michael Murray.” Jensen started and watched Jeffrey’s emotions. Betrayal, hatred. He knew about Chad. He knew about Chad’s involvement with Jared, of course. “It was not Chad Michael Murray who was supposed to get into your ranks through Jared,” Jensen risked. He didn’t know how much exactly Jeffrey and the Group were aware of but he guessed correctly as Jeffrey’s anger flashed even more. “It was me.”  
  
“Keep talking.”  
  
“Chad didn’t even know how important Jared really was, their getting together was a complete coincidence. The bad thing is that I told him Jared was very close to you and I think he relied this information to the Headquarters -- it was a few days ago. But that same day I made a decision to switch sides and it was I who set him up for Jared to discover his purpose.”  
  
“What was his purpose?”  
  
“As far as I know, gathering intel and also watching me.”  
  
“He was your partner.”  
  
“Not exactly. He knew about me; I didn’t know about him. Until that day, when . . . it all happened.” Jensen shrugged. He was losing hope. Jeffrey believed the information -- though cautiously -- but it was not Jensen’s goal. He needed Jeffrey to believe in his honesty, in his switching sides and that he wanted to fight alongside them.  
  
“What was your purpose?” Morgan asked after a moment of silence, startling Jensen.  
  
It was uncalled for. Jensen wasn’t supposed to slack like this. He kicked himself internally; _Focus!_  
  
Speak the truth. “To infiltrate the Group.” Bold and blatant. “To get close to the leader, namely you. Make you trust me and set you up for the assassins.”  
  
“I believe you.”  
  
Yes, he did, Jensen knew that. He almost smirked. “I’m telling the truth.”  
  
“Then you must be unbelievably stupid.”  
  
Jeffrey turned around and left the cell, motioning for Tim, the one who hated him so much, and Jensen knew exactly what was going to happen. He felt it. He heard it as clear as if it was said out loud. “Kill him!”  
  
***  
  
“Oh! Oh my God! Who’s there? Who’s THERE!?”  
  
A high pitched scream could be enough to bring in sentries had any of them been nearby. Jared recognized a female silhouette cut out of the moonlight seeping through the tall window -- short, slender, long flailing hair. The silhouette was momentarily embraced by a more male-ish looking shadow that grabbed her by the mouth. Jared heard mumbling and hushing, and eventually silence. Or, actually, only the thumping of his own frightened heart.  
  
“Hey,” he tried very quietly, surprised that he was capable of formulating a decent sentence. “Is this place too small for _three_ refugees?”  
  
“Who are you?” asked the male voice.  
  
“Um. My name is Jay, if it tells you anything.”  
  
“Well, hello Jay. What do you want?”  
  
“To wait till the morning.”  
  
There was some more whispering, one of the voices angrier, another one trying to be reasonable and eventually the male silhouette appeared before the window again. The man was as slender as the girl.  
  
“I’m Milo, she’s Alexis. You may stay over there.” His finger pointed to the right.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
The warehouse was large and full of all kinds of shit. Jared managed to find a decent place to spend the night in almost total darkness, tripping only three times. One time so loud that he was sure they’d be discovered but apparently luck was still on his side. Just as he was turning from one side to another for eleventh time -- he couldn’t sleep, even though he was exhausted, too much thoughts running through his head about Jeffrey, the Purpose and about the damn wine mark Pellegrino -- he felt somebody squeezing into his niche.  
  
“What?--” he gasped.  
  
“Hush.” A small hand pressed against his lips without a force. “He’s finally out cold.” Jared recognized the girl when her long hair tickled his face. He couldn’t help but sneeze. “Hush!” Alexis scolded him again and giggled. Then she cradled him with her legs and leaned in closer in an attempt to kiss him.  
  
“Wha-- Shit! What? No! Shit, get away!” Jared forgot all about precaution. “Stay. Away.” He grabbed the girl by the arms and held her away from him. She just cocked her head to the side and stared at him. His sight more accustomed to the lack of light now, he could make out her eyes glistening in the murk.  
  
“Why?” she asked eventually.  
  
“B-- Because. I don’t swing that way.”  
  
Someone in the darkness chuckled. The girl’s male companion. “I told you,” he sing-songed.  
  
Just great! Now Jared found himself in the middle of some whacko couple! When he thought about Milo’s slender silhouette though, he couldn’t help erection. It felt like ages since he last . . . With Jensen . . .   
  
Jared had never been a one man’s man, so feeling as though he was about to cheat on the guy surprised him. It made no sense. He was not bound to Jensen by any vows and now, what with him going to Los Angeles, he’d probably never see Jensen again. Oh, so he made a promise when he was leaving and . . . suddenly it stung. He promised to come back and damn, he wanted to go back, badly. This was why he wanted to return to Vancouver and throw those orders in Jeffrey’s face -- because Jeffrey had no right to mess with his life like that, to send him god-knows-where when he finally found something so good. He was really in love. He really intended to tell Jensen everything about who he was and what he was doing. He wanted Jensen to join the Group.  
  
But in all honesty, he knew Jensen how long? A couple of weeks? It was hardly enough to risk a mission of his life over.   
  
And it was not a reason enough to refuse a gorgeous body when offered. Milo’s was one pretty body, even in the dark and Jared forced all thoughts about those green eyes out of his mind.  
  
“Do you swing my way?” Milo asked and he didn’t need Jared’s vocal response to know the answer; his erection spoke for him. “Do you mind if my sister stays with us? I swing both ways all the way and so does she.”  
  
Sister? Screw it. Jared was too heated up already to refuse. He dreamt of nothing else but Milo straddling him and humping him senseless.  
  
But Milo had another idea. He undid Jared’s pants and started pulling them down, his lips dangerously close to Jared’s cock. No, Jared didn’t really feel like a blowjob from a total stranger in an abandoned warehouse. Meanwhile Alexis started licking his ear. It was distracting! Jared longed to feel another person’s body all around him and for some reason he thought he should get just what he wanted!  
  
Then he realized that’s how it had been with Jensen those few times they were together. That’s why being with Jensen was so gratifying. They seemed to always want the same thing at the same time. Jared’s needs were immediately met, Jensen’s caresses natural, their unity perfect.  
  
Milo looked up, noticing Jared’s distraction. Before he managed to ask what was going on though, they were flooded in bright light and heard orders to “surrender” and to “lift their hands”.  
  
Of all the ways Jared thought he would get caught, he didn’t expect it to be with his pants down.  
  
***  
  
The guard turned to him and Jensen sensed elation flare up in his mind. His eyes were so full of hate, all his being like a flame, burning, scary, like nothing ever before. Jensen had faced death -- not once -- on his missions, but he’d never been about to be executed.  
  
His heart-beat increased so much, he thought his chest would burst; breath-in and -out got quick, too quick to bear; the barrel of the gun was pointing at him.  
  
What Jensen’s gaze was drawn to though, were the eyes. Blue like a summer sky, cold like northern air, crazy with hate. He saw behind those eyes. Torture received and inflicted. Lives taken. Desperation, the need, the intent . . .  
  
. . . to pull the trigger and kill.  
  
He wouldn’t shoot.  
  
Jensen had never done anything like this before but now that his life was in immediate danger, it was as if his mind jumped to a new level of capacity. As if a switch was flipped. He saw more, he heard more, he could _sense_ more. And he could give the order.  
  
“Don’t!”  
  
Tim’s will battled his with force almost too big to handle. His finger on the trigger tensed, shook, but didn’t move a millimeter. His breathing became strained and when Jensen though that he was about to lose this fight and pass out -- he managed to move the other man’s arm. Tim pulled the trigger, the gun barked madly and . . . the bullet ricocheted from the wall with an ear-blowing wheeze.  
  
A scream, like a wounded animal, escaped Tim’s mouth.  
  
“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey yelped and Jensen only then realized that the leader didn’t leave the site. He may have given the order to execute the prisoner but he’d not let his soldier do it alone. He was standing right next to Tim -- now above him, as Tim crouched on the floor, sobbing.  
  
One step.  
  
“What. Did you. Do?” Something cold was pressed against Jensen’s throat and he knew it was a knife. It stung and Jensen felt lightheaded. And tired. Exhausted.  
  
“Saved myself,” he whispered in response.  
  
“How?”  
  
Jensen looked into Jeffrey’s eyes as vast fields of knowledge opened up before him. Jeffrey knew about the Institute. Not all, of course -- some suspicions, bits and pieces of information -- but enough to make him believe in empaths, telepaths, psychokinetics and mind control.   
  
Enough to realize what he had right in front of him.  
  
“Can you talk to them now?” he asked straight away knowing that Jensen’s answer would be a confirmation or a negation of those suspicions. The only way Jensen would know what he was asking about, was if he could read his mind.  
  
“I’m an empath,” Jensen panted. “I can sense emotions not hear thoughts. I can adjust my actions to the emotions of my target but I can’t manipulate someone directly. At least--”  
  
“At least what?”  
  
“I thought I couldn’t. I was never trained for it but--” He didn’t finish. There were too many ‘buts’ -- the one now, the one earlier when he almost forced Jeffrey to believe him, so many times with Jared.  
  
The one now drained him. He could barely see straight. He could barely guess what Jeffrey was thinking.  
  
“Untie him,” he heard like through the fog. “Give him food and water and a room.” There was also an order to watch him at all times, but it was in a whisper -- Jensen sensed the guard’s reaction to it more than heard it. Then Jeffrey leaned to Jensen’s ear. “You’re one of us now. Let’s see how you perform.”


	13. Chapter 13

Jared allowed himself to get caught. It was careless, stupid and risky and he shouldn’t have let it happen but he did. He didn’t want to imagine Jeffrey’s wrath.  
  
The mission went to hell. Maybe he could have escaped but he missed his window, when he was being arrested and then driven to the penitentiary facility and once he got thrown into a cell with five other men, any immediate chance of regaining freedom vanished.  
  
His captives didn’t omit calling him a “fucking fag” while dumping him on his ass in the middle of the small cell. This got him an expected reaction from one of the convicts -- smacking his lips, devilish snigger and that dangerous, feverish gleam in his eyes. Jared wasn’t scared, not at all -- after all they had four other inmates in space of around four square meters -- but he took a seat in the corner farthest away from the fag-hater.  
  
It was obviously a temporary holding cell and there was a number of similar cells, divided by walls, to the left and to the right. In front of him Jared could see a few trucks, as if it was a garage and if he gazed through the bars to the left he would see the guards’ main post. He couldn’t see the prisoners in other cells but he could hear them and every once-in-a-while people were being dragged -- some calm, some kicking and screaming -- down the row of cells to some unknown destination. The whole facility gave off a vibe of a sorting plant.  
  
“What are they gonna do with us?” Jared asked a thin intellectualist in glasses.  
  
“Depends on your crime,” the man whispered. “Me, I’m probably going to get killed, that’s my luck. If you’re a thief, they’ll send you to the mines and if you’re a spy, they’ll torture you.”  
  
Jared gulped. His future didn’t look bright.  
  
The thin intellectualist was taken out of their cell first. Then -- luckily -- the guards took the fag-hater, who gave Jared a fierce gaze upon departure. Jared was certain they would be taking the other prisoners as they arrived and he didn’t expect his turn anytime soon, so the guard calling a “Sam Winchester” didn’t get any reaction from him. Only when the soldier stepped in and hit him in the jaw with the handle of his gun, did Jared remember that Sam Winchester was the name on his false ID. Great way to start off the interrogation -- by forgetting his own alias!  
  
He was led out of the cell. Didn’t have much time to look around before the guards pushed him through the door into a brightly lit corridor. There were doors on each side, normal looking doors to some rooms probably. The double door at the end of the corridor was different. It was made of steel and it had a digital lock on the side. One of the guards entered a code and it opened. Jared was kicked forward and onto a staircase.  
  
“Up!” the guard barked and added a dig under Jared’s ribs.  
  
Two and a half flights higher they came upon another double steel door and the guard opened it with another -- or maybe the same -- code. This door led to the yard.  
  
It was square, about fifty meters each side and overlooked by four towers with three guards in each watching the inside and the outside. The salt in the air made it obvious that they were near the sea, possibly on the island separating the Seattle Bay from the open ocean, because the air in the city was different, less fresh, even in the harbor. Still the fifteen-feet-high walls didn’t reveal anything. Two walls of the square were facades of the buildings, the third and fourth were plain walls, with a gate in the one to the right.  
  
The guard pushed Jared to the left, toward the other building. Another locked door, corridor, door, staircase leading down, door on the lowest floor -– second down -- and corridor. Here they stopped in the middle and the guard escorting him pushed the handle.  
  
They entered a long, nearly empty room. There was only one desk near the wall at the end, a comfortable chair behind it, an uncomfortable one before it and a lamp, directed at the uncomfortable chair. There was no one inside. The guard pushed Jared on the chair and left through another door in the side wall.   
  
Jared was free to do whatever the hell he wanted. He wasn’t tied up, wasn’t even watched, although he suspected there were cameras hidden somewhere. None was visible and there was no Venice Window, or cracks in the walls big enough to fit a bug, even the desk was totally empty but there could be cameras nonetheless.   
  
He decided to stay unmoving. After about two minutes of sitting in one position, he began twitching. Sitting still was against his nature!  
  
The room was long but Jared chose to stay close to his chair, so his pace was parallel to the shorter wall of the room. Perpendicular to the door. Not the one he came in through; the other one. The one the guard left through. Where did he go? No, Jared wasn’t going to get near them! They were sure to be watching him and if he tried to escape, or even thought about it, they would come and get him and it would be worse. This whole waiting thing was an attempt to scare him too, to make him break sooner! He wouldn’t . . .   
  
Would it hurt to press his ear to the door though? To listen, nothing more . . . No sound. There was no one on the other side and he couldn’t remember if there was that code-entering plaque at the first door. He didn’t think there was one on these either, maybe . . . maybe he could open . . . The handle was cold to the touch and the sensation sobered Jared. What was he trying to do? They didn’t leave him here by mistake it was all calculated and if he tried to escape now, he had no idea what he would be getting into. No, he needed to have a plan, not act on instinct, not this time.  
  
He tried pacing the room again but was too agitated, too on the edge. After three passes he was at the door again, with his ear pressed tight against the cold plastic. Still no sound. He felt his heart sped up and his breath deepen and fasten. He was going to do this, he didn’t care. Damn it, they couldn’t just keep a man locked up, alone, and forbid him thinking about escape, right? It was a natural reaction!  
  
The handle was still cold but the surprise factor didn’t play now and Jared pressed it, slowly, gently. He felt -- more than heard -- a soft ‘click’. His heart was hammering and the inside of his mouth was dry from the too fast breathing. He shouldn’t be doing that. He really shouldn’t.  
  
Simultaneously with him opening the door a crack wider, a sound of heavy-booted steps in the corridor was heard. Jared shut the door with a totally un-stealthy thud and planted his ass in a chair so quickly that it screeched on the floor, giving him goose-bumps. At the same moment the door opened and a short man in a suit, with a folder under his arm, entered.  
  
He smiled at Jared knowingly and sat behind the desk. Opened his folder and skimmed through it.  
  
“So, mister Winchester-- that is your name, right?”  
  
Right, Jared took a deep breath in and out. Winchester. Sam Winchester, this was his name. He was damn lucky they didn’t _ask_ about the name. Not that he would tell but after some interrogation . . . No, he wouldn’t break no matter what. He would not.  
  
“That criminal we caught with you said you introduced yourself as Jay?”  
  
Okay, there it goes.  
  
“Why would I give my true name to a total stranger?” Jared deadpanned, even though the dizziness was starting to cloud his thoughts. He had to calm his breath down, damn it!  
  
What else was there on the fake ID? He didn’t really believe the counterfeit worked; he was convinced the interrogator was stalling, trying to weaken his defenses, placate him and then hit. He wouldn’t let them! He would keep up with the game no matter what. The guy who made those ID’s assured them that all the data were entered into the system, that they wouldn’t be discovered without special scrutiny but Jared didn’t believe it for one second. Besides what was he now if not under special scrutiny?  
  
The interrogator’s face hardened. There it was, he was about to start asking the real questions now.  
  
“What were you doing in the warehouse with Milo Ventmiglia and Alexis Bladed?”  
  
Now that was a surprise.   
  
“Having sex?” Jared blurted. What was that about? Why was this guy asking about the weird couple?  
  
The interrogator’s eyes opened wide for a moment and then he burst with a short, choking laugh. He shook his head and stared at Jared with his blue eyes.  
  
“When have you met them?”  
  
“About half an hour earlier.”  
  
“What did you want from them?”  
  
“Nothing. They . . . They kind of approached me.”  
  
“Why did they approach you?”  
  
“That you’d have to ask them.”  
  
“What did they ask of you?”  
  
“To have sex.”  
  
The interrogator shut up again, his eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. Jared couldn’t understand why this conversation circled around the two accidently met people. It had to be a diversion. They were trying to undermine his alertness.   
  
“You really were in no way affiliated with them?”   
  
Jared shrugged.  
  
“Have you seen this?” The interrogator showed Jared a paper with Milo’s face on it and big red words “WANTED!” Jared gasped. “This was all over the city a couple of days ago but then the wind kind of took care of the papers.”  
  
Jared blinked a couple of times. Was it really possible? Was it really about that Ventmiglia guy and not about him? They seemed to believe that Winchester was his real name, that he was just some average guy who happened to cross paths with a wanted criminal. A small ray of hope lit up in Jared’s head. He had to keep the game up.   
  
“I’ve only just arrived,” Jared stuttered, too overwhelmed to think what the right answer should be. This was not a bad one though, come to think of it. “I couldn’t find a room in a hotel and the curfew was starting so I just wanted to get off the street. Luck had it I came across them. Or, rather lack of luck.”  
  
“Where did you come from?”  
  
Interrogator knew, of course, the data were in the system, entered by the guy who faked the ID. He just needed a confirmation and Jared couldn’t believe he would get off with it so easily. It looked as though if he played it right they would just let him go! Did they really not suspect that he was their real catch, not some Ventmiglia? It seemed so. All Jared needed was to pretend he really was Sam Winchester.  
  
“I move a lot,” he shrugged. “Lately I was in South Dakota.”  
  
“Why are you in Seattle?”  
  
“Looking for a job.”  
  
“Do you want to serve your country?”  
  
“Of course I do!” That was almost too easy. Jared only had to give them the answers they wanted.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
“I think I have a job just right for you.”  
  
Uh? At this moment Jared realized that getting out of this mess wouldn’t be so simple but it was too late. The interrogator handed him a call-up, stating the name of the boat he’d be assigned to and the name of his captain.  
  
“Report to the gates with this. You’ll be taken to your destination.”  
  
***  
  
The first couple of days after Morgan let him stay were painfully uneventful. Jensen was sick of loneliness. No one talked to him, even Nicky came by for three minutes on the second day, apologized for everything that happened and left. Jeffrey was near. Him and the guards. Never where Jensen could see them or hear but he could sense their presence. That of the guards constant, watching, alert. Jeffrey’s brief, a few minutes here another few there. He only came in when Jensen was asleep -- or so he thought, because Jensen wasn’t really sleeping, ever. He would lie down, close his eyes, even out his breathing and wait, even though he could barely keep up the appearance. Then Jeffrey would come, watch him for a couple of seconds, speak to the guard about what Jensen was doing during the day and leave.  
  
Jensen needed those moments of attention like water, that’s why he struggled to stay still long enough to fool Jeffrey. After the chief had left he would stop pretending.  
  
He would sit on his cot for a few minutes trying to calm his thumping heart and he would give up eventually, each time, and go out of his cell to wander. They were located in a former office building. A few people were sleeping here but mostly it was used for storage. Few larger rooms in the front section of the building were locked and at first Jensen didn’t try to venture anywhere near them not wanting to piss his guards off. After five days of solitude he attempted to pick the lock to one of those rooms for this very reason.  
  
“What do you want here?” It was Tim who watched Jensen this day. He jumped from behind the corner of the corridor, pretending he simply was nearby. Jensen wanted to laugh in his face. Tim’s anger, his hoping -- excitement almost -- that he had finally caught Jensen in a compromising situation were rejuvenating. If they would only know . . . Jensen immersed himself in Tim’s complex, chaotic emotions. And then Tim did something he wouldn’t even hope for: he called for Jeffrey.  
  
Jeffrey was intense. His presence made Jensen experience life on a whole new level, every time. There was hardly anything he wanted more these days, than being near Jeffrey Dean Morgan. If he had known breaking into one of the locked rooms would get him that, he would have done it much sooner. Except not, because he didn’t want to risk Morgan’s anger, he didn’t want to risk getting expelled. No, the timing was alright.  
  
The assessment was proven right by Morgan’s curiosity, rather than anger that Tim expected, when the big boss arrived.   
  
“He was trying to break into the planning room.” Tim hurried with the information.  
  
“Was he?” Jeffrey directed the question at Jensen and Jensen shrugged. “Or was he trying to get attention?” Jeffrey read him so well; Jensen thought for a moment that maybe the man was a telepath himself. But no, psychics’ mind felt different; Jeffrey was simply very perceptive. He wouldn’t be a good leader if he didn’t have this trait.  
  
“Can you blame me?”Jensen asked, half-jokingly, half hoping, praying that this trial period or whatever it was -- this dreadful solitude -- would finally be over. “I am bored, I want to do something, be helpful some way. Please.” The word escaped him almost against his will. It was unnecessary, wrongly placed, Jensen could tell by Morgan’s internal flinch. He didn’t appreciate wimps. Jensen was losing! Oh, no! . . .  
  
“You think you can help?” Morgan mocked. “Be here tomorrow at 11 hundred sharp.”  
  
That was all. Morgan’s parting words were, “Carry on!” to the guard, meaning that Jensen was not to be let loose just yet. Okay. Alright. He could bear with Tim hanging at his neck for the next twenty four hours. Actually, the amount of anger in Tim right now was about enough to sustain his starving mind. Jeffrey’s presence was too short, too insignificant and Jensen briefly wondered how he could make his sentry even more pissed. He didn’t though. He went back to his quarters and collapsed on his cot. The exhaustion finally took him over.  
  
“Hey, sleepyhead!” a familiar voice woke him up after what felt like mere seconds later. Jensen lifted his head surprised that it felt so heavy. One look at the watch told him it was ten in the morning so either the time moved backwards now, or he slept for a whole day and night. “You didn’t even get undressed.” Nicky squinted at him placing the tray with food on the table. She was in good spirits and almost despite himself Jensen felt his mood improving dramatically. He almost wanted to laugh. “You gotta eat something.” Nicky smiled at him and he smiled back.  
  
“I’m not hungry.”  
  
“Impossible. Have you been eating at all?” She touched his face. “You look so thin.”  
  
Jensen glanced at the bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. His stomach grumbled and he realized he did feel hungry but at the same time he felt like he’d just eaten. It took some effort to separate the signals coming from his own body from those coming from Nicky; it was her who had already had breakfast!  
  
The food was gone in seconds and Nicky laughed, “You want more? Maybe later. Jeffrey wants you to join the meeting in half an hour. Go, wash yourself and change those cloths. You know where the toilet is?”  
  
There were no showers in the building as it used to be a work-place rather than a hotel and getting clean in a basin required some skills. Jensen didn’t pay much attention to the hindrance though, because other things engaged his attention.  
  
So many people! There were numbers of people in the building now, all of them alert, almost excited. Tired, curious, expectant, angry, hopeful. Alive. Jensen’s vision suddenly got sharper, light brighter, sound and smells more pronounced. Gone was his resignation and despair of the last couple of days. Forgotten.  
  
“Nicky.” He ran into the room naked, dripping. “What is going on in here?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Everyone . . . Something is going to happen, isn’t it?”  
  
Nicky stared at him her bright eyes wide open. Jensen wanted to grab her and twirl around. She was so gorgeous!  
  
“It’s nothing big, really.” She chuckled, amused. “Some scouts returned, that’s all. Jeffrey wants you to come to the meeting, there you will know.”  
  
***  
  
The ship looked like a fishing trawler. Jared was surprised how he could serve the Confederation as a fisherman, unless they needed a fresh delivery of fish every now and then. When he came onboard though, he soon realized how wrong he was.  
  
It was a masqueraded spy ship. The electronic equipment onboard was so sophisticated Jared didn’t even attempt to guess what it was all doing. The vessel wasn’t large, it couldn’t be manned by more than fifty people. Jared came onboard along with three other men and they were debriefed by a petite brunette who -- surprisingly -- was a bridge officer. She told them about duty and obedience and gave them assignments; Jared and another guy ended up with a short, obnoxious kid, probably younger that him, with a large nose, nicknamed Pinocchio -- that’s what the petite officer said.  
  
“Petty Officer Wilburn,” Pinocchio introduced himself. “You can call me Sir! I know the likes of you,” he continued the drill. “I know you better than you think. I know exactly what’s running through those dumb heads of yours. You’re trying to figure out how to escape. You won’t escape! There’s no way to escape from the _‘Vigilante’_. You wanna know how I know that? Because I tried! Yes, I tried. I came here straight from prison, like you dumbasses. And I tried to escape. And see? I’m still here. You’ll be here too, unless you’ll go back to your cells, or you’re dumb enough to get yourselves killed.”  
  
Then he proceeded to run exercises that would make a horse beg for mercy. Running the length of the boat’s corridors -- that seemed to stretch a mile! -- with full battle equipment; crawling the ventilation shafts in full uniforms with gasmasks on their faces; pushups, sit-ups and free combat fight with other enlisted crewmembers as a welcoming party to finish it all. Jared didn’t even last one round of his first match. And he most definitely didn’t have the energy to think about a plan of escape that afternoon.  
  
The next morning they were out in the sea.  
  
The next few days consisted of practice, food, short rest, practice, food, short rest, practice, food, shower, sleep. The seamen weren’t given any information other than orders they were required to fulfill. Jared couldn’t guess where they were headed and what they would be required to do once they got there, so no plans concerning escape could be formulated at this point. They weren’t allowed anywhere near the bridge, or even the officers for that matter. Jared had only seen his superior during the briefing on the second day and he did get a chance to glance at the Captain himself for a moment when he was running on the deck and someone whispered next to him that the Old Man is on the other side of the boat. They were only taking orders from Pinocchio. Jared prayed they would get to some -- any! -- shore, sometime soon and that there would be a chance to escape then. He refused to believe Pinocchio. There had to be a way to get out of this mess and Pinocchio was simply too dumb to find it, that’s why he hadn’t succeeded.


	14. Chapter 14

Bouncy. That’s how he felt. Jensen walked next to Nicky down the corridor and he could barely hold back the need to run. Ahead or back, didn’t really matter. With each step he was getting more and more apprehensive, nervous, terrified even. His mouth was dry and his hands were damp and shaking. What would Jeffrey say? What would he want from Jensen? Would he finally trust him, would he give him something important to do? Or even simply _something_ -something, didn’t have to be important, as long as he wasn’t sitting idly on his bunk.  
  
They had to take him in, finally!  
  
“Easy, you’ll pull something,” Nicky berated him in a voice soft and strained. Nervous. Apprehensive.  
  
Jensen turned to her with utter surprise. He didn’t expect her to feel like this but here she was, trembling like a newborn kitten.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked in a whisper. He’d been certain it was him who was upset; instead it was her. He was excited because someone near was excited, he was angry because someone was angry. He didn’t know which were his emotions any more!  
  
And then he felt calmer, focused, firm. The feeling washed over him like a warm tidal wave.  
  
Jeffrey.  
  
The leader’s psyche dominated all others in the empath’s mind and Jensen had never been more grateful. He was beginning to go a little crazy, too many conflicting sensations, chaos! Jeffrey managed to make it alright simply by coming over.  
  
He walked by, acknowledged Jensen’s presence but not with words, greeted Nicky instead, squeezed her arm lightly and looked her in the eye, and in the back of his mind Jensen registered that she calmed down a notch. Then Jeffrey welcomed some of the other people, entered the planning room and requested them all to take seats.  
  
Jensen tried to watch them, familiarize himself with them. Despite Nicky’s claim that it was nothing big, really, everyone in the room was tense. They all expected big news, even Nicky. No, Nicky was about to deliver some big news, that’s why she was nervous. Jensen could almost hear her rehearsing her speech; she was so wound up he had to switch focus onto someone else for fear of vomiting.  
  
Someone else was familiar and Jensen gasped. It was the man who drove him over the border! If he remembered correctly his name was Chris, Chris Kane, or something similar. What was he doing in Morgan’s headquarters? Was he a traitor? If so, who had he betrayed?  
  
“As you may all see, Collins has returned,” Jeffrey started meanwhile, “and he brought us quite a surprise.” He was not pleased with the surprise, he was reproachful and Collins -- Jensen sensed him -- was, in return, defiant. “Instead of a message from Steve Carlson, he brought the message _and_ Steve Carlson.” Only now Jensen noticed the guy sitting next to his driver. “And what are we supposed to do about that, Misha?”  
  
“I’m sure we can use him.”  
  
“With that messed-up leg?” Jeffrey glared at the man. Steve Carlson was lost, in pain and angry, very, very angry. He held it back though, didn’t lash out.  
  
Collins lashed out instead, “And what was I supposed to do? Leave him there? His cover was blown, the Confederates would kill him!”  
  
“You didn’t have to mess him up.”  
  
“He had a frigging chip--” Misha started but Jeffrey cut him off.  
  
“Alright, enough.” He hesitated for a moment, staring at both Steve and the driver. “We can use Carlson. At least we know we can trust him. But what about the other one?”  
  
Jensen sensed the driver shrink internally under his scrutiny. He stayed silent, instead Steve spoke this time.  
  
“He helped us. I couldn’t walk and Chris--”  
  
“You couldn’t walk, so Collins allowed him to walk straight into our home.”  
  
“Hey, wait a minute,” Collins interrupted, annoyed. “Don’t we trust him as well? He smuggled our people over the border from what I heard, many times over.”  
  
“You know why he did it?” Jeffrey inquired and answered himself immediately. “For the money, not for principles. What guarantee do I have that he wouldn’t do the same for the Confederates?” Oh, he would! Jensen wanted to jump right up and say that, admit that he was brought here by this very guy. Jeffrey kept talking though and a sudden change in the driver’s emotions pushed Jensen deeper back into his chair. “What guarantee do I have that he wouldn’t run straight back to them to give them our location and everything we say in here for enough coin?” Jeffrey said and Chris turned from apprehensive to hurt and dejected in the blink of an eye. His distress was so honest and real that Jensen had no doubts that even if he worked for both sides -- for the money, Jeffrey had a point there -- his heart was with the rebels.  
  
However, they didn’t want him.  
  
It stung, it was killing him inside but Chris didn’t say anything to defend himself. Jensen experienced his inner turmoil as if he himself was battling with his conscience. Stay with Morgan’s Group and lose everything, what little safety he managed to work toward through the years? Or go back to his life and risk that his country would never be free again, because there weren’t too many people like Jeffrey Dean Morgan and they needed all the help they could get. Jensen doubted that he would be brave enough to give that help.  
  
He felt Steve’s reassurance, a squeeze of his hand. Steve was so courageous! He’d want to have half of Steve’s courage.  
  
“To top it off, we have Jensen Ackles, a kid from the north, inexperienced and green like grass in the River MacKenzie valley, but recommended by both Jared and Nicky as yet another kid who seeks revenge.” Jeffrey glared straight at Jensen and it took a significant moment for him to understand he had to leave Chris’s doubts and his infatuation with Steve behind. That he had to focus on the subliminal message Jeffrey was sending him -- that his true identity must still remain a secret. Jeff wouldn’t reveal it, even to his most trusted companions. Jensen didn’t intend to betray him. He nodded and realized he was holding his breath -- the gesture made him dizzy. He also realized that right then Chris, the driver, recognized him too.   
  
The conflicting emotions in Chris’s head sent Jensen into overdrive. _Reveal the mole!_ \-- was the first one, immediately followed by, _No! That would reveal Chris working for both sides!_ , immediately followed by _What to do?_ Loss and resignation.  
  
“I want Carlson and Ackles to stay for this briefing,” Jeffrey announced. He didn’t notice Jensen’s torment; no one did. “You, Kane, will be escorted to your temporary quarters and we’ll decide what to do about you later. Does anyone object?” Morgan looked around the people gathered around him but no one challenged the leader’s choice. They didn’t doubt that he had many reasons to trust Carlson and that he had checked Jensen’s credibility before introducing him to the team. “Let’s start then,” the leader announced when the door behind Chris Kane closed. “Samantha?”  
  
“Me first?” an older woman turned to Jeffrey and at his nod she reported, “Chad Michael Murray escaped from the hospital.” A few ‘whats?’ and a ‘just great!’ from Misha Collins were her response. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t suit us at all. Our trusted nurse, Sophia, succumbed to his manly charm and cut him loose. From what we know he may have left Vancouver by now. The boys were trying to track him down with little to no success so far.”  
  
“Leave it be,” Jeffrey ordered, thoughtfully. “We have his data. We know what he knew -- about Jared’s position in the Group, the location of the previous headquarters, that was all. He was wounded. Let’s hope he dies on his way to his masters. Right now we have plenty more burning problems. Carlson.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Since you’re already here, you can relay your message yourself, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Right. Well. The Confederation is training psychic soldiers who are capable of triggering a bomb to blow up a city with their will alone. That’s the message, basically.”  
  
“You’re kidding!” Someone barked. Jensen turned to the man, older than Jeffrey but just as distrustful. The moment Jensen laid eyes on him he knew this man didn’t appreciate the newcomers in the group. He believed Jeffrey and wouldn’t object to the boss’s decisions. However, he labeled Steve Carlson’s revelation as obvious nonsense, refusing to believe it.  
  
“What?” Carlson retorted. “I’m just saying what they told me to say!”  
  
“Calm down.” Jeffrey called for order, preventing a more heated argument. “Nicky,” he requested another report.  
  
The girl’s anxiety hit Jensen with the force of a whirlwind. She stood up and sat back down.  
  
“Well, it really does sound like science fiction,” she uttered. “I tried to find all I could about that Professor Huang Jing we discussed a few weeks ago and frankly, it’s all inconsistent. It seems he was regarded as kind of a loon back before the Confederation but his research had nothing to do with weapons. The leaders of the Confederates, for some reason, believed in his findings and took over and, I think, twisted them. I believe this professor didn’t want to hurt anyone, he served humanity in a way and--”  
  
“Nicky,” Jeffrey interrupted her. “Well, that’s all very noble of him but we need to know how our enemies can use that research now.”  
  
“Right. Sorry. Like Steve said, they are creating a living weapon -- a human brain is capable of unbelievable things and either Professor Huang Jing found the way to expand those possibilities, or he searched for predisposed children and further developed their minds. It’s hard to tell, really. The specifics of the whole experiment are now hidden. I found some old articles and mostly deduced the rest. It’s a wild guess actually, but if Steve’s report confirms it, in a way, then I think, maybe, there’s some truth to it. So. That’s it.”  
  
“Thank you, Nicky. Jim, do you still doubt it?”  
  
“I have no idea,” the older man grumbled, not quite convinced.  
  
“Well, take my word for it. It is very real.” Jeffrey didn’t leave room for doubt. “Now,” he took over the meeting, about to state the very goal of it. “We need to look into it but we also have plans concerning a bottle of good Italian wine.”   
  
This was a code word!   
  
The people in the room reacted to the use of it with surprise, anger, even fear. A code word in a small trusted circle could only mean that there was someone they couldn’t trust, after all. Of course they all thought about Jensen. Not one person allowed their sentiment to be recognized, either in words or a gesture, but their misgivings squeezed his throat with a deadly grip, choked the air out of his lungs and he doubled over as if hit in the gut.  
  
Concern tore through the haze, “Are you okay?” Nicky petted his back, “Jensen, are you okay? He hasn’t eaten anything today,” she said on his behalf  
  
Jeffrey was hesitant. He needed Jensen but he said in a harsh tone, “He may go back to his bunk.”  
  
“No, I’m good,” Jensen choked out. “I’ll be good.”  
  
The chief was still unsure and right now also worried. Jensen’s reaction disrupted his plans and he didn’t know what caused it -- was it really purely physical pain, or did it have something to do with the mention of “good Italian wine”? If so -- what? Jeffrey suspected Jensen knew more than he let on. When Jensen glared at him in the hope of reassuring him of the purity of his motives, Jeffrey’s thoughts shrunk and withdrew in response. Focus, focus, he feverishly searched for another subject to occupy his mind with, desperately not wanting to reveal anything to _this freak_. That though gave Jensen goose bumps.  
  
Finally Jeffrey found something close to the wine. “Jared?” he looked expectantly at Misha.  
  
Another bolt of lightning surged through Jensen’s head as suppressed feelings came to the forefront and threatened to overwhelm him. He held the reins on his bodily response this time but his longing for Jared, missing him, his dizziness and Misha’s voice reporting that Jared was on his way to retrieve that bottle of wine and the connotations, conclusions, consequences were wrong. They didn’t know! He was not!   
  
“He is not!” Jensen’s voice shrieked.  
  
Silence fell. Filled with surprise, almost offended.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“He’s on his way here!”  
  
“Jensen,” Nicky’s whisper, worry. “Sit down, calm down.”  
  
“He’s coming back!”  
  
“Jensen, please,” Jeffrey, now certain Jensen shouldn’t be here.  
  
“He’s coming!”  
  
“Take him out,” Jeffrey gestured and two men grabbed Jensen’s arms and restrained him and held him tight even though he fought, fought like a lion, because he knew Jared was on his way back to him, soon. He was closer, Jensen could feel it! He was closer and soon he would be here.  
  
He felt something sting his arm and then he swam away, deep into the ocean waves . . .  
  
***  
  
He was losing his shit. For a short moment after he awoke in his bunk in the dark, watched closely by one of the guards, not Tim, one of those who almost liked him, Jensen knew it clear as day -- he was losing it. Eric warned him this would happen. Overload -- impossible to clear his head, to meditate, to distance himself from all the surrounding emotions. That and missing Jared. Jensen was sure that if Jared was here, he would be able to hold it together. Jared somehow made him whole. Or maybe not? Maybe he only imagined this?  
  
One thing was certain -- he needed help. Eric was right. Eric could help him. And Eric gave him a way to reach him. Jensen had that phone number burned into his memory -- the number of a girl named just like the region his alias was supposed to be from. His hands were trembling as he hit the digits and he had to stop and try a couple more times before he finally heard the signal on the other side.  
  
“Hallo?” a sleepy voice responded after the fourth ring.  
  
“MacKenzie?”  
  
“Hallo?” the voice grew surprised. Jensen heard a loud ‘what the fuck’ underneath the word. It was the middle of the night and he had woken her up.  
  
Maybe he should use some code? He didn’t know any code though. He could only say it.  
  
“Tell Eric I called.”  
  
“Who is it? Who is Eric?” The girl sat up. Jensen could see her, clear as day, teenager, blonde, sitting in a tangled-up bed.  
  
“It’s Jensen, J. Tell Eric that I called.”  
  
She didn’t understand. Maybe she was not supposed to? Jensen felt fear like cold claws. Maybe they were recording messages from her cell somehow, maybe it was just a mailbox, and maybe it was not connected to Eric but to the ones responsible for the whole operation. A safety net in case Jensen flaked?  
  
Jensen hung up before she could ask anything else and the vision of her shattered before his eyes. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have talked to her, asked her . . . He didn’t know what. Breaking the contact with her left him even more alone and frightened than before. Painfully alone. He wanted to but he didn’t call back. And when she called him he didn’t pick up either.  
  
***  
  
Jensen couldn’t sleep for the reminder of the night. As the effect of whatever they injected him with faded, he lay awake, his thoughts running a mile a minute. He couldn’t catch any, he didn’t know how anymore. There was Eric, suspecting him of betrayal as well as all the memories of how he always taught him to feel. He and an old man before him, Jensen could hardly recall, but there he was, buried deep under all his other memories. A kind person, warm, the first one he remembered clearly and then forgot. Eric was kind and warm too but in a different way, he was not as confident. Jeffrey was more like this first person, maybe that was why Jensen took to him so easily, felt he could trust him, lean on him. Jeffrey betrayed him. He had sent Jared away and Jensen didn’t want to think about Jared. The only thing he wanted to control -- being able to push out thoughts of Jared, of his hazel eyes and gentle loving. Jeffrey. Jeffrey and his betrayal, not Jared. Jeffrey could have told him and Jensen felt all the time that Jeffrey was hiding something and this something was the fact that he wouldn’t see Jared anytime soon. But he was wrong! They were all wrong, because Jensen _knew_ Jared was coming! It wasn’t his imagination!  
  
“Are you awake?”  
  
How could he miss it? Jensen stared at the figure hovering above him and felt terror. He didn’t know who that was, but he should have known. He should have sensed that person approaching but he -- or she! -- managed to startle him.  
  
“Jensen?”  
  
Recognition hit him like a fist in the jaw. Jeffrey. With all his stubbornness, suspicions, anger and power.   
  
“Go away,” Jensen managed to moan.  
  
“What was that?” Anger. Anger first and foremost. “What did you mean that Jared is coming back?”  
  
“Because he is,” his voice was not his own, so thin and high-pitched and begging for mercy.  
  
“You sense it?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Jeffrey was not pleased. Not at all.  
  
“Is it because of you?” Jeffrey thought Jared disobeyed him for Jensen. Jeffrey felt betrayed!  
  
Jensen almost laughed in his face. He would have, had he not been in so much pain.  
  
“I don’t think so,” he uttered a chuckle. “No, actually, I’m quite sure it’s not. I don’t know.” He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be left in peace. Alone.  
  
He almost was. Jeffrey’s attention wavered and washed away in waves, farther and farther away with each breath, a point of light smaller and smaller in soft, gluey darkness . . .   
  
“What’s wrong with you?” Jeffrey asked and tore apart the illusion.  
  
“What?” Jensen’s eyes snapped open. Jeff was sitting on his bunk and watching him.  
  
“You seem . . . in pain.”  
  
“I am,” Jensen whispered.  
  
“Because of Jared?”  
  
Jensen needed to think. “Yes,” he said and corrected, “No.” Why was it? “Not only Jared. There’s too much everyone. Can’t keep up.”  
  
“Too many people?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jeffrey fell silent again and quiet, almost compassionate. He wanted to ask about Jared, a part of him which he allowed to emerge wanted a confirmation, wanted Jared to really be coming back. But he knew he couldn’t push, not now, not yet.  
  
“Get some sleep,” he whispered, or maybe he only intended to . . .


	15. Chapter 15

Two weeks into his service onboard " _The Vigilante_ " Jared was getting seconds from the cook and was on first-name basis with most of the seamen. Petty Officer Pinocchio invited him to the evening poker games in the Mess Hall on the fourth night. He was making friends, but then, Jeffrey used to say Jared would make friends in Hell, if he happened to be there longer than one day.  
  
He didn't feel good about it though -- this 'making friends on the Confederation warship' thing. He would consider himself a traitor if not for the fact that he'd already labeled himself that, having neglected Jeffrey's order to go to Los Angeles. Damn, he needed to find a way to get out of here and perhaps get back on the route south. It didn't seem like they were going south though. It looked more like ... west. North maybe. It made no sense. After the first couple of days it was too cloudy to judge the direction.  
  
He needed to know where they were going! If the constantly increasing intensity of the exercises and the way people talked -- this eerie undercurrent in each sentence -- was any indication, Jared guessed they were getting close to their destination. It had been two weeks already. Late in the afternoon he saw the shoreline far ahead of the ship's bow. Good, Jared thought, very good. If they were going onto dry land, that meant he might find the way to escape. He only needed to know where they would land exactly, in what area, so he'd know what preemptive measures to take. What to avoid, where to turn first.  
  
Those evening poker games seemed like the best way to acquire such information. Especially if ... Oh, yeah! When Jared saw two officers enter the mess at this hour, he smiled to himself. This was a chance he'd have to take.  
  
Usually, only the enlisted personnel played but sometimes, some officer would join as well. Jared -- having mastered the game since he'd been twelve and lived on Vancouver streets -- was able to learn the quirks of the most frequent participants within three days. The officers were those he paid the most attention to.  
  
Lieutenant Gennie Cortese for example would usually fold below two pairs. If she had something above straight, though, she would go into high stakes quickly, too quickly even, and thus discourage other players. That's why she wasn't usually winning a lot, while she was steadily losing on the _ante_. She didn't seem to mind, and whenever she played she would leave the table laughing that she came to play and enjoy, not to win.  
  
She was sweet. Petite, dark haired and brown eyed. She reminded him of Sandra and Jared felt that small pang of nostalgia every time she gave him her crooked smirk. She was flirty. She teased Pinocchio, the Latino Chief Ochoa, who blushed like a girl and her fellow officers whenever they fancied playing as well. Since Jared had first come to the table, she was teasing him too.   
  
"You raise or call?" she asked now and Jared looked at his cards, at the other players, the anticipation in her eyes and the small pile on the table. He was the last one left in the game and, of course, she raised by twenty. He had three of a kind -- it was not worth a risk.  
  
"I fold," he said and Lt. Cortese, disappointed, took her twenty back along with everyone else's one-dollar _antes_. Not much of a win.  
  
An hour later Cortese was left with three dollars and Jared feared she was three games away from calling it a night. He still didn't gain anything -- other than money. He'd tried all the small talk he could think of, careful not to raise suspicion all the same, but the officers were as tight-lipped about the ship's mission as ever. He couldn't ask the question straight up, could he? 'Where are we going?' -- how would that look? They'd never answer.  
  
There was that old saying "lucky at cards, unlucky in love" and Jared wondered how it referred to his escape plans. Judging by the big pile in front of him and four eights in his hand right now, his prospects were grim. He looked up just in time to catch the spark in Cortese's eyes when she saw her cards, and Jared's heart felt like it performed three back flips and started hammering wildly in his chest. If he ever had a chance, this was it. He only had to play it wise.  
  
He threw in two coins. Piccolo folded, Ochoa called. Cortese raised it to three, but only because that was all she had. Then she bit her lips. Her fellow officer called then, apparently not wanting to get her into more trouble and hoping to keep her in the game a bit longer, but then -- it was Jared's turn.  
  
Jared took his time. He counted five coins. Glanced at Cortese. Smirked. Counted ten more and threw it on the table with a grin and a wink. He knew she had high cards and that she wouldn't want to lose such a hand.  
  
Ochoa folded.  
  
Cortese groaned and laid her head on the table.  
  
"Gambling doesn't suit me at all," she whined.  
  
They had a rule -- there was no borrowing money at the game. But...  
  
"Oh, I think you could offer an incentive," Jared teased with a smile dancing on his lips. God, he hoped he was being convincingly suggestive. "C'mon! Maybe I just want to keep you in the game longer." He winked again. "How many good hands can there be in one deal? It's practically yours already! Or, if you lose, I'd at least have some consolation."  
  
Cortese smiled at him broadly. "What would you want from me?" she winked as well.  
  
"Oh, I'll, uh ..." How should he phrase it? _'I'll ask a question and you'll answer truthfully'_? It would make his intentions too obvious, would spoil that air of flirtation and mystery he managed to fashion. It might spook her. "I'll have a request," he whispered. There were all kinds of possibilities: to ease up on the exercises, to give him something the enlisted personnel didn't have the right to possess, to give him a kiss ... or dance on the table. She might interpret it however she'd like. "And you'll fill it to the letter."  
  
She appeared to consider it for a moment but she was a gambler, Jared knew that about her. Her fellow officer glared from her to Jared and from Jared back to her again and was about to interfere, but she spoke faster.  
  
"Okay."  
  
They both looked at her fellow officer, because he was the only one who had not folded yet.  
  
He checked his cards again, then the pile on the table, "Fifteen?" he asked and Jared nodded. "I fold."  
  
That was that.  
  
"I called," Cortese said. "You show first." Her eyes were bright with excitement and Jared hoped his heart wouldn't leap out of his chest when he slowly put his cards on the table. Technically, not many hands would beat four of a kind but still, luck was known to play tricks. She might have four nines, or even a straight flush, that was not impossible.  
  
Jared looked up and ... saw Lieutenant Cortese deflate. Then she looked up at him, smiled and showed her lovely full house -- two aces and three queens.  
  
"You'll have your incentive then." Cortese pushed the money toward him. "What is your request before I head to bed?"  
  
Now or never. All or nothing.  
  
"It's not big," Jared tried to delay. "At least I don't think it's big. I only want to know where we are going?" He met her eyes, his face serious and, yes, a little pleading.  
  
Cortese gasped. The officer next to her stood up. "That's impudent!"  
  
"Why is it a secret?" Jared spread his hands. "I really don't understand. What difference does it make if we know or not? I'm the kind that doesn't like surprises, they make me uncomfortable." That wasn't true but he knew enough people who would worry themselves sick at the prospect of receiving a surprise gift, not to mention something like this -- Nicky coming to mind first and foremost. "Just ... the general area."  
  
Cortese stood up as well and laid a hand on her colleague's arm. "Don't worry, Greg. I know how to handle that." Then she turned to Jared. "I'll tell you, but not here." A brief glance at nearby tables was supposed to be an explanation. "Come to my quarters, will you?" A cheeky smirk was enough to tell him that the information was worth more than a win at poker and that she intended to collect her prize.  
  
***  
  
Jeffrey summoned Jensen to his office and made him sit. Requested him to sit, not forced him. Sit and wait. For some reason it felt like a punishment. Jensen's legs itched with the need to stand up, get up, get out, walk. Somewhere, ahead, or at least pace the small room back and forth, back and forth, like he had in his cell, hours ago. Or maybe minutes.  
  
His head felt too small for all the thoughts.  
  
He'd never felt like this and he was afraid he would never feel normal again, calm and reasonable. This was too deep, this need to just do something, anything. It could be good, he wanted to tell Jeffrey, it could be useful, but Jeffrey only pushed papers around on his desk and scribbled notes on them over and over and over, focused, like Jensen could never be again.  
  
He waited too, but without this restlessness; he waited with the calmness of someone who knew the reason, the purpose.  
  
"You wanted to see me?"  
  
Jensen jumped at the sound of her voice. Nicky! He hadn't sensed her coming in, but with all the apprehension radiating from her in waves, flooding him, drowning, he could no longer tell if his restlessness was really his, or if it was hers. He felt panic well up and wasn't sure whose it was either.  
  
"Please, take a seat," Jeffrey told her.  
  
Nicky was not afraid of Jeffrey, Jensen knew that. He intimidated her, like he did almost everybody else, but she loved him and she never had any problem talking to him before. She liked Jensen too, she thought of him as of Jared's boyfriend and that was enough for her to trust him. But now ... a hint of suspicion was like a needle, piercing, burning, relentless.  
  
"You didn't have a problem with Carlson's revelations, did you?" Jeffrey asked her. "The human weapon and all?" He might have appeared casual, but Nicky knew him too well for the pretense. Jensen, of course, sensed nervousness. Tiny, concealed, but still present.  
  
"I did not," Nicky responded in a low voice. "I have read enough about the research at Flagstaff to be able to believe in the weirdest things."  
  
"Good. Nicky, I'll need your absolute discretion on this, even before everyone else in the Group, do you understand?" She nodded. "We may have laid our hands on one of those weapons." He waited for the words to sink in. And as they did ... Jensen barely contained a gasp. The fear, the intensity of her emotion in that moment, was like a sip of fresh water after days of thirst, like a ray of sunshine. His own thoughts suddenly became clearer, his own feelings intelligible. He was not afraid, or even anxious. Maybe a little. Right now, he mostly felt relieved and even anticipating. He knew Nicky wouldn't really hate him, despite ... "Meet J, the Confederation recon tool, turned traitor due to faulty programming." Jeffrey introduced him as if they'd only just met.  
  
Nicky glared at him and her fear turned into anger. One as intense as the other. Jensen savored in it.  
  
"Nicky," Jeffrey called her attention. "Jensen is on our side now. He is willing to share everything he knows about Flagstaff with us and I want _you_ to work with him on that. Can you do it?" He waited and Jensen witnessed the swirl of emotions in her. Disbelief, outrage, the need to deny so strong she almost acted upon it, but eventually her sense of obedience won over and she nodded wordlessly. "Good," Jeffrey sighed. He really considered her rebellion. HE was relieved that he didn't have to go for Plan B. "Perhaps you'll be able to draw the layout of the facility, or learn its command structure, find its weak points. Anything, Nicky. Be thorough and you Jensen, be honest and try to remember all you can. We may have a change of plans, children. That depends on how well you two perform on this task. Dismissed."  
  
That was all. Jeffrey didn't waste time on unnecessary small talk. Nicky left the office expecting Jensen to follow, so he didn't lag behind.  
  
He wanted to convince her about his loyalty. He wasn't stupid and he knew it was just a matter of time before everyone here would know what he was. Jeffrey might have wanted to keep it between the three of them, but for how long? When Jared returned -- because everything was in fact about Jared -- would it still be a secret? Jensen recoiled at the thought that the man he loved might feel the same fear, the same anger toward him that Nicky did. He needed that from her, true, but he didn't know if he could bear it from Jared. The people in the Group had to be convinced that he was one of them, so they could tell Jared, before he could start to be mad at him. And Nicky was the first step in that direction.   
  
"Get in!" Nicky's harsh voice pulled him out of his thoughts. At least he could see them; he could analyze his own motivation right now -- that felt like ... like he was his old self again. It felt so good he almost wanted to cry.  
  
"What?" she asked and this time Jensen focused on her. Something changed. She was slipping away from him and he had to strain his abilities to reach her. She wasn't angry anymore, only confused, uncertain and he didn't want to feel confused. He wanted something stronger, hate or love, nothing in between. "Are you gonna stand there?" At least a little bit of annoyance.  
  
They were in front of her cell and Jensen entered. Then he watched her open her laptop and gaze up at him. Expectant.  
  
"What do you want to know?" he inquired, folding onto the couch next to her.  
  
"Whatever you can tell," she said.  
  
At first he doubted he could really be helpful; he didn't remember all that much. As she was asking questions though, his mind was opening more and more and in a matter of hours they had the basic layout. He recalled that the all the ... human weapons ... it was strange to think about them like this, but that's what they were -- occupied a multilevel underground structure. Jensen had only a vague idea about how the command and security buildings were arranged, because he'd been there only a handful of times. The number of soldiers, guards, how they were distributed -- those were things Jensen had no idea about, but Nicky tugged at bits and pieces of irrelevant memories and with a few educated guesses, she extracted a few possibilities.  
  
Jensen couldn't tell if it was her excitement over the work they were doing, or the work itself, the necessity to strain his brain to remember, to think about all those details that had always been irrelevant to him, but now mattered above all, but he felt good again. Excited and thinking clearer than he had in weeks.  
  
"I wonder if Jeffrey will try to free all those poor people like you, imprisoned there?" Nicky looked at him with shining eyes. She was a good soul, even if a little naïve at times, but right now Jensen wanted to hope with her, to believe in the knight in shining armor. It was a prison, that place he grew up in. He hadn't seen it that way but that's what it was. He hadn't known friendship, acceptance, working side by side with someone, until he felt it -- here, now, with Nicky and with Jeffrey. Back there he had only been supposed to follow orders and fulfill his assignments. Only Eric ... Eric had cared about them, this had been that odd thing about him, the one Jensen couldn't name. Eric really wanted to help him.  
  
Jensen had to set Eric free as well. He had to save all his brothers, all the other empaths, telepaths, everyone else he hadn't known so well, but he had known _about_ them. When he saw Nicky's research, when she told him what Steve reported about telekinesis, telepathy and mind control, Jensen remembered more about them. And he wanted them all to be able to experience what he was experiencing now. To make friends. To fall in love.  
  
"You were a tremendous help!" Nicky didn't hide her joy. It was the middle of the night when they finished but Jensen wasn't tired. He stood up and headed for the door, certain that Nicky would be right behind.  
  
She laughed instead, "Wait a moment!"  
  
"Aren't we gonna--" he waved his hand, gesture easier to express what he wanted to say than words.  
  
"We'll let Jeffrey take a look at it in the morning."  
  
"Why not now?"  
  
"It's four a.m., Jensen. I hope he's sleeping now. We should too."  
  
Maybe she could sleep but Jensen couldn't. Not that he didn't try; he lay down and turned from side to side for half an hour. And then he had a dream, the same dream he often had about the little girl with golden hair. Except the girl in his dream was not two years old anymore. She was a teenager, asleep in a bed in a darkened room in the attic ...  
  
She woke up with a start ...  
  
***  
  
It was hard, pretending that Lieutenant Cortese was attractive, but Jared had to try his best. He closed his eyes and tried to remember Jensen. It didn't work -- the lips were too soft, the arms too thin, her too long hair tickled. Besides, longing only made things worse, especially since Jared knew that no matter what, this hole in his heart wasn't going to heal any time soon. He had made a mistake, had missed his window in Seattle, because he'd hesitated, because love had blindsided him.   
  
He couldn't think about Jensen now.  
  
"You miss her, don't you?" a soft voice asked and Jared looked up, startled. "Oh, you're so easy to read, Sam. Sam, that's your name, isn't it?" Lt. Cortese asked and Jared swallowed uncomfortably. He kept forgetting his alias and she must have caught onto this too. Why else would she say he was easy to read? This was going too far. "You flirt with ease but when push comes to shove, you're reluctant. I know the feeling." She sighed and stood up. Walked to the small table in the corner of the cabin and poured two glasses of water. "Here," she handed one to him and sat back. "Have you heard about Jeffrey Dean Morgan?" she asked casually and Jared almost dropped the glass. He gulped at the water, praying that she didn't notice how his hand trembled. She knew. Oh, God, she knew everything. He only wondered if everyone else onboard knew as well. Or was it only her suspecting? And what he should do in either case? His mind was blank. "He's the biggest thorn in the Confederation's side and we were sent to capture him." Cortese leaned back and smiled at him. "That's our mission, Sam. We're almost in Vancouver and the day after tomorrow you are going to march into his headquarters and bring him down. You're going to prove he's not as invincible as some people seem to think. See, we're keeping it a secret, because some people are afraid he has spies literally _everywhere_. Which, in my opinion, is bullshit. So. Now you know. Do you feel more comfortable?"  
  
Jared couldn't answer. He knew he should say something, because silence like this might look strange. Although, surprisingly, Lt. Cortese didn't suspect him. Yet. So he only raised his glass and she smiled.  
  
"To the success of our mission," she understood his gesture and Jared gulped the rest of the water with relief.   
  
"We'll do our best, sir," he choked out finally.  
  
"You better. Now go get some sleep."  
  
Jared went back to his bunk and only then he realized that he was going to see Jensen really soon. He was going to Vancouver. It was surreal.  
  
***  
  
Two days later, they were awakened at four a.m. and assembled on the deck. Jared joined his unit, stood at attention right next to big-nosed Pinocchio and stared through the darkness at the Captain and the officers on the other side of the deck.   
  
And at the city lights all around them.  
  
' _The Vigilante_ ' was approaching slowly, engines idle. Nonetheless, Jared recognized that landscape -- they were in Vancouver Bay, the ship had just crossed Lion's Gate and was turning toward the southern bank where the large commercial ports were located. The soldiers stood motionless and silent in the cold morning mist. The ship turned rapidly to the west, sailing around the peninsula. Toward a smaller port, a former yacht club, forgotten and abandoned since the war.  
  
A perfect hiding place for a partisan organization, hated by the governments of both the Confederation and the former United States.  
  
Jared's heart started beating so loud he was afraid Pinocchio would relieve him of duty.  
  
They were supposed to attack at dawn.


	16. Chapter 16

Jeffrey had a tough conundrum to solve. He didn't trust Jensen. He didn't trust anybody, that was another issue, but Jensen was a special case. Someone with superhuman abilities that Jeffrey did not possess was a threat by definition. On the other hand he believed that Jensen was sincere in his willingness to help them. He spoke to Jensen, interrogated him, watched him react to various stimuli. Now he was convinced that his relationship with Jared was all that mattered to the empath. This attachment -- maybe it was love -- was strong enough to bind him. For now. So, as long as he fueled that, Jeffrey would have him on their side, because Jensen wouldn't betray them on purpose. There was no telling how strong it was, though, and how long it would prevail over his training. So Jeffrey believed Jensen but he did not trust him.   
  
To make matters worse Jared wasn't there and no matter how much Jensen believed that _Jared was coming_ that wasn't very likely. Time and distance might weaken those bonds, and Jeffrey knew only one way to keep them strong -- bond Jensen with him, with _them_ , with the Group. He had to convince Jensen that he, and everybody else, trusted him and depended on him. Make him depend on them in return. Nicky was his first trial, but Nicky was easy. She liked Jensen in the first place and Jeffrey was sure that, despite her initial horror, they had found common ground fairly soon.  
  
Now he needed to introduce him to Samantha and Jim and he planned to use Nicky's opinion to influence them too. He hoped they would fall for it, and if he'd add that _he_ trusted Jensen, they would believe it. Because, contrary to Jensen, they couldn't sense his true feelings.  
  
One couldn't lie to an empath.  
  
Jeffrey could only count on his ability to rein himself in. Besides, he couldn't deny that he felt some sympathy toward this poor kid. That might help too.  
  
He didn't take into account the unexpected circumstances that could hinder his chances before he even started.  
  
"Sir," Chris Kane knocked at his door, just as he was expecting Samantha or Jim. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"  
  
He was interrupting actually, but Jeffrey motioned him inside. "Make it quick."  
  
Chris came in and Steve Carlson hobbled behind him, like they were joined at the hip. He nudged Chris, who apparently wasn't very convinced he should speak up. "Go on."  
  
"Sir. I'm not sure ..."  
  
"Kane!" Jeffrey didn't have the time for his uncertainty. "Speak or go."  
  
"I think Jensen Ackles is a spy," Kane blurted out.  
  
That was a new one. Not that Jensen was a spy, but how did Kane know?  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, I know what I'm about to say will only confirm your suspicions about me working both sides, but ... it's true. I drove him through the border a couple of months ago. Not smuggled, like your people. He was in the cabin with me, and I was paid for it by the Confederation. I figured that coming clean about it would also convince you that I'm on your side now and, well, I think there's no turning back for me anymore, so I thought, what the hell? Right? And I decided that I had to tell..."  
  
"Shut up, Kane." Jeffrey didn't like the direction this conversation was headed, but then Carlson had to add his two cents as well.  
  
"Sir, what if Ackles is one of those _things_?"  
  
Jeffrey glared from one to the other and then at Samantha standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What things?" she inquired.  
  
Crap.  
  
"Kane, Carlson, you're dismissed," Jeffrey barked, his brain already focusing on the best answer he could give Samantha to throw her off her game.  
  
The two newcomers, however, were apparently not used to his command style, because they did not vanish out of sight immediately.  
  
"Sir," Carlson spoke. "I know it's difficult to believe but he may be more dangerous than you think..."  
  
"I said--" Jeffrey raised his voice then paused for more impact. When Carlson gasped and glared at him with his jaw hanging open, Jeffrey hissed through clenched teeth. "Dismissed."  
  
Carlson wanted to add something but thought better of it.  
  
"What was that about?" Samantha asked when the door behind the two men closed.  
  
"They think they can run this operation better than me," Jeffrey uttered, standing up and barely containing the urge to smash his fist into the wall behind his back. He leaned against it instead, soaking up its coldness through his open palm. Samantha didn't ask and they waited in silence until Jim joined them. At least those two trusted him without reservations.  
  
"I asked you here," Jeffrey started, "because I wanted to share the most amazing thing I've discovered." As he was saying those words, he realized this was the wrong strategy. When was he ever enthusiastic about anything? Samantha looked like she was about to call his bluff, but for now she waited and Jeffrey had no choice but to trudge though. "One of those outstanding human weapons not only came straight into our hands, but he also decided to betray his creators and cross to our side."  
  
Samantha and Jim glanced at each other. "You have a telepath here?" Jim voiced their concern.  
  
"He's an empath, actually."  
  
"Telepath, empath, one devil! You should get rid of him right away!"  
  
"Is he the one Carlson was concerned about?" Samantha asked and Jeffrey sat back, hiding his face in his hands. "You can't possibly believe without a doubt that this empath crossed to our side!" She stood up and neared him, indignant. "Jeffrey?"  
  
"No, of course not," Jeffrey sighed. How could he have hoped his best people would be fooled so easily? Even if Carlson had not shown up when he had, they would probably still have doubts and his whole plan would backfire. "I'm still betting on him though. We've been looking into the research at Flagstaff for months. We never expected to find _this_ but this is what we got and we have to deal. I still think that hitting the Confederation right there is the best course of action. They have plans to use this force and no one in the world has any defense against that magnitude of mind control. They could disrupt global market, cause mass suicides, turn people against each other without them even knowing. We have no idea of their true power."  
  
"We have no idea of Jensen's power either."  
  
"We know he's in love with Jared."  
  
"You base your military plan on one guy's love for another?" Jim made it sound like it was ridiculous, and ... it was, actually. However--  
  
"Do we have any other option?"  
  
They didn't, that was a fact. Neither Jim nor Samantha said anything for a long while until she finally asked quietly, "What do you expect from us?"  
  
"I only want you to give him a chance."  
  
When he called Nicky and Jensen to join them, he was stunned to see the expressions on Jim and Samantha's faces change. They shed their skepticism within minutes. Nicky and Jensen were talking one over the other, finishing each other's sentences, their excitement contagious, and even Jeffrey couldn't help but love Jensen a little, captivated by the spark in his eyes. It must have been some kind of manipulation on his part. It must have been Jensen's skill, the ability to become who you wanted him to be, to feel this need to protect him, to take care of him. Jeffrey knew he had to fight it but his resolve was too weak.  
  
"Are those plans accurate?" Jim asked, his disbelief tainted with admiration.  
  
"They're as real as Jensen remembers them," Nicky replied. Jensen bowed his head apologetically.  
  
Samantha nodded. "They are accurate." She looked at everyone in turn. "I have seen the facility and all of it fits with what I remember. It looks like we got the intel we needed! Jensen, you have no idea how much it means to our cause." She extended her arms and he let her wrap him up in a motherly embrace. Gave her more than she gave him in that moment. Jeffrey watched it with amusement, knowing that he was putting his wager on one card now and maybe this path was leading to the ultimate failure but he couldn't stop it anymore. He couldn't let this boy go; he had to protect him at all cost.  
  
***  
  
Jared's unit was deployed at the wharf along with four others, under the command of Lieutenant Cortese. They remained motionless for a couple of minutes until they saw a man limping their way. Pinocchio, gun aimed at the newcomer's chest, stood next to the Lieutenant.  
  
"Identify yourself!" he ordered.  
  
"Black Crow, you moron!" the man barked. He seemed strangely familiar to Jared, however in this pre-dawn murk he couldn't see his features clearly enough. "I am the reason you are here, Lieutenant," he said to Cortese.  
  
"Of course," she responded. "The Captain is awaiting your full report onboard." She saluted and he waved his palm at her in a half-assed response.  
  
He limped past the soldiers, and then Jared could finally see the man's face. Luckily enough he had a helmet on and was in full armor, otherwise all his plans might have crumpled down like a house of cards right this moment. The man was none other than Chad Michael Murray, a Confederation spy in Vancouver. He should have expected that.  
  
The warehouses half a mile to the west were the previous location of the Morgan Group’s main base; that one Murray had found out about. Fortunately a little over a month ago Jeffrey had moved his people and armory to a new location and apparently Murray, despite having obviously escaped, hadn't learned about it.  
  
The Lieutenant, however, seemed aware Morgan was not there anymore.  
  
"It's the last known location," Cortese told Pinocchio. "We spread out and search building by building. Let's hope we'll find something that will give us a clue where he's gone to next."  
  
Jared's unit was sent to a ruined office building.  
  
Jared's own goals hadn't changed one bit -- he had to escape. What changed was the urgency of his plan. Before, when he'd learned that Vancouver had been their destination and that Jeffrey had been their target, he'd known that he had to warn his boss, his friend and the closest thing he had to a father. Now, that Chad Michael Murray had joined her crew, Jared knew that if he came back to _The Vigilante_ there would be no more hiding and pretending. His cover would be blown to smithereens.  
  
He wasn't really worried. Jared realized he was actually excited. True, he would return home not having fulfilled Morgan's orders, but he would see his family, that was consolation enough. And then, he would see Jensen.  
  
With an ecstatic smile that he couldn't wipe off his face, Jared watched his surroundings. He knew the layout of the port; he'd spent days here practicing, running errands, setting up guards, planning escape routes in case of an ambush. That building where they were headed? It was empty when Morgan's Group resided here, his unit wouldn't find anything in there. Not that they would find it elsewhere, Jeffrey was too cautious to leave a single trace. What mattered about this building was that it was close to the woven wire fencing and there was a city park right behind it. There used to be a park, before the war. Now there were wild bushes, trees, and a bunker nearby. A perfect place to hide. The problem was how to get to the fence.  
  
A few paces of open space separated the barrier from the building. Once the unit entered, Jared could cover that space untroubled or at least gain a few precious seconds. In order to do that, he'd have to retreat or stay behind. For now he remained in the rear guard aiming his gun at the air and the shadows, appearing alert.  
  
"Winchester," one of his colleagues hissed at him. "Don't stay behind!"  
  
Damn him and his pack instinct!  
  
Pinocchio was picking the lock. "Ready! Go, go!"  
  
Jared cast one last look around. Pinocchio was waiting for him. Jared's heart wanted to leap out of his chest.  
  
"Wait, there's something..." he told his superior and, not waiting for his command or even approval, leaped toward the fence.  
  
"Winchester!" The suddenness of Jared's movement fooled the man momentarily and Jared was halfway through the open space by the time Pinocchio could start suspecting an escape attempt. "Winchester, get back here or I'll shoot!"  
  
The warning only gave Jared another boost of energy. He jumped on the wire fencing and started climbing. He'd done it hundreds of times during simulated escapes from the compound. The bullets started whizzing past his ears and ankles but he was already atop; he leaned forward, grabbed the wire and jumped onto the ground. A burning pain shot through his hip-bone but he didn't fall. Bullets were still whizzing past. He dived into the bushes without hesitation and tore his way through as fast as he could. The thick canopy muffled the screams from inside the port but Jared didn't stop until he got to the bunker inside the park, mostly covered by fallen leaves and tree branches. He knew that once he opened it and entered, it would be less hidden, his oppressors would find it sooner or later. It gave him at least a few minutes of advantage though and the tunnel from the bunker led to the town, to the streets hopefully more and more crowded come the morning.  
  
Jared threw away the heavy helmet and gun, took off the uniform and stayed only in an undershirt and khaki pants. He also kept the small pistol and a knife he was equipped with. Not the best outfit to wander around the streets. On top of that he noticed blood trickling through a bullet hole on his thigh and he realized the pain that was getting more and more intense, was not a result of a miscalculated jump. He had been shot.  
  
***  
  
"I feel strange," Samantha admitted, looking at Jeffrey with bleary eyes.  
  
Jensen and Nicky had left fifteen minutes ago and Jeffrey wanted to hear Samantha's and Jim's opinions on what they saw.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I can't quite place it. This boy..." she hesitated.  
  
"He's helping us," Jim provided but his voice didn't sound certain either. "He's a good boy," he tried from another angle.  
  
"His charm is wearing off, isn't it?" Jeffrey asked bitterly. His own feelings were changing, remodeling. He didn't want that, it made him feel regretful, as if he was losing something precious. He still wanted to protect Jensen, but he knew this was all a result of an elaborate lie.  
  
Samantha shook her head and Jim bit his lips.  
  
"That's why I wanted you to meet him and to be open to him. Sam, are you still sure that those plans he provided Nicky with are accurate?"  
  
"Yes, that I am sure of. He's ... not ..." she seemed to search for the right word. "He's not tricking us. I don't think that's his intention. I don't know. I feel like my judgment is so far off!"  
  
"That's what he does apparently," Jim grumbled. "Wraps you around his little finger with his telepathic tricks."  
  
"He's an empath, Jim, not a telepath," Jeffrey corrected.  
  
"And you know that how? Because he told you?"  
  
He had a point. Jeffrey scratched his beard.  
  
"I want you to leave now," he said finally. "As soon as you can. Go to Flagstaff, take a few trusted people. Set up a camp and observe the facility day and night. I'll start sending people out soon after you with convergence points away from the town, but close enough for you to get in touch with them. I want the two of you to prepare the plan of an attack. I want you to move our people away from the locations I'll give you. I don't want to know anything about your plans. I'm in too close proximity to him and I want to maintain this proximity, because I still believe he is defying his training. I have no way to be sure though, that's why I'm putting this distance between us now. Samantha, I relinquish the leadership of Morgan's Group onto you from this moment on and assign Jim as your executive officer. I'll keep my role here until we join you south. Expect us all within three weeks. Then we'll attack. Do you understand?"  
  
Both of them nodded wordlessly. Jeffrey didn't have to read their thoughts to know they were stunned. Nobody could ever expect the great Jeffrey Dean Morgan to give up his power but this was the only way to ensure the safety of the operation.


	17. Chapter 17

  
Jared had planned to stay in hiding at least until the evening before he'd attempt to find and warn Jeffrey. He needed to figure out a new strategy now; he had to get help because bleeding out or developing an infection was not a good idea. Then again, he couldn't exactly run around the city with a bleeding wound either. Random people would remember him and might rat him out to the bad guys.  
  
He shivered, feeling the cold fingers of shock clawing at his intestines. He hadn't lost that much blood, had he? A makeshift bandage would soak through in minutes and the leg hurt like a sonofabitch. Where could he find help? There was only one place near enough -- Mike Rosenbaum had his hole right outside the park. Jared needed to hurry if he didn't want to walk out straight into his oppressors’ hands.  
  
Dizziness crept up as he neared the sewer exit. Now he needed to climb up a ladder, damn it, then lift the lid and run a few steps. He hoped he found the right hole. It took him longer than he could afford to crawl up to the opening and he was soaked with sweat, his hands trembling as he lifted the lid, his heart hammering wildly from exertion and fear. The street was empty, all the houses with curtains closed, their inhabitants still asleep in the wee hours of the day. Jared pushed the lid away and lifted his body up. He almost fell right back in when his arms buckled, but managed to maintain balance and finally he dragged himself out onto the asphalt, biting down the scream that wanted to escape his lips. He couldn't imagine getting to his feet.  
  
He had to though, there was no choice. He had to put the lid back where it belonged too and should have wiped the blood but that was impossible without a bucket of water. Shaking all over now he pulled himself up and limped to the nearby house. He rang twice, impatiently. Damn it, why wasn't he opening? Couldn't he hurry? What if Mike wasn't even home? Jared rang again once more and when the door opened hastily, he fell face-first onto the rug of Mike Rosenbaum’s hallway.  
  
"Who's chasing you?" Rosenbaum asked half-mockingly but Jared was only able to tell him to shut the door and hide him somewhere. Anywhere. And pull the curtains down and stay quiet.  
  
***  
  
An hour later, doped up on painkillers, pissed off about a too-tight bandage, his heart still reminding that of a scared rabbit, Jared sat on Rosenbaum's couch and drank water that Tom Welling handed him.  
  
"You need to drink a lot, to replenish your fluids, you idiot." Rosenbaum paced the room, peeking through the curtains. "What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
Two privates, armed to their teeth, had just left his house in disarray, even though, upon opening the door to his house, Mike had given them a sufficiently sleep-ruffled impression. The kids obviously weren't trained in search techniques and were as inexperienced as they got, because ... hiding in the closet in the bedroom? That was one of the most ridiculous thing Jared had ever done. There had been no time to figure out anything better though and Jared had nearly had a heart attack when the voices had been closing in on the room. Then Tom had played his role -- of a frightened and affronted lady in distress -- perfectly well and the privates had left in haste. Jared was lucky that Tom was at his partner's house this night. In addition to acting skills, he'd provided Jared with actual first aid that Rosenbaum had been too agitated to think about. Fortunately the bullet had only grazed Jared's thigh, not lodged in it, otherwise he'd have to go to the hospital and he absolutely couldn't afford that.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mike," Jared snorted at Mike's indignation, "that I'm disturbing your domestic bliss. But frankly, I don't worry about you. You're like a cat, always land on your feet."  
  
"Right. It's not what I mean, idiot!"  
  
"What then?"  
  
"You're involved in that paramilitary patriot movement, aren't you?" Rosenbaum turned to him and glared, his eyes dissecting. Jared kind of didn't know how to respond, only gaped, his mouth shut tight, eyes wary. "Oh, don't play dumb. And don't think me dumb either!"  
  
"Jared," Tom cut in. "It's not like you betrayed anything, _ever_. But sometimes, when you were drunk, you were saying things. Kind of ... You were too loud and too bold with your declarations of hatred toward the Confederation and your belief that the old States would be back. It doesn't take too much brains to add two and two together. Besides..." Tom lowered his gaze to his hands and spoke really quietly. "I remembered that in the old days, when we were teens, there was that guy who took us in, kind of wanted to give us a ... home. Or something. I broke contact with him, didn't like how righteous he was, I think I was scared of that a little. But I knew that you kept in touch. His name was Morgan, wasn't it?" Now he looked up. "Everyone is talking about Morgan's Group," he challenged.  
  
Jared swallowed hard.  
  
"We want to help," said Rosenbaum.  
  
"I kind of realized that I was wrong ditching him back then," added Tom.  
  
Jared didn't expect this. Those guys were his friends and it was touching that they were willing to help, but were they ready to fight? At least he could count on them if it was needed and that was something.  
  
"Thanks, guys," he told them. "Every additional soul may be handy. But first we have to survive the next couple of hours."  
  
***  
  
No further search parties showed up on Rosenbaum's steps. There was no telling if someone wasn't watching the street, but Jared believed _The Vigilante's_ crew had more pressing matters than searching for one runaway recruit. At least he hoped so. In the evening, when it got sufficiently dark, he sneaked out through the back door. He crossed the neighbors' backyard, got into a bus two streets away then caught another one downtown.   
  
There was a moment, brief though, when he wanted to stray. When he longed to cross the plaza, dive into the streets and find that special one. Find those doors, knock on them and say, "Surprise!" He imagined the smile on Jensen's face. Not now, though; he couldn't.  
  
He had to find Jeffrey first, he had to warn him, admit that he'd failed his mission. He had obligations, and years of connection with Jeffrey Dean Morgan had taught him that obligation had to come first. Even if it was against his nature. He would find a way, he would find the time to seen Jensen. Maybe tomorrow or the day after, but now that he was back in Vancouver, his love could wait.  
  
Jared wasn't quite sure where Jeffrey's current headquarters were located, but he knew enough clues to find it eventually. Once he was certain he wasn't followed, he turned in the direction of the suburbs, found the abandoned school building. Getting inside -- that would be tricky.  
  
Passwords were changed every once in a while and the two men walking up and down the street were unfamiliar to Jared. The Group had grown in the recent months; no wonder the Confederation wanted them wiped out. Where once were ten, then less than fifty people, now a few hundred could be called if need be. Those two appeared casual, had no visible weapons, they might simply be two neighbors who met on an evening stroll. They weren't playing their role too well though and to Jared's eye, they were obviously guards on the perimeter. He went straight to them.  
  
It was supposed to be a confident walk, instead he mostly limped.  
  
"Take me to your boss," he said even before they asked what he wanted. "Don't know the current codewords but my name is Jared Padalecki and I have vital intel."  
  
The twosome glared at each other.   
  
"Don't know what you're talking about?" the taller one tried.  
  
Jared glared at him from his six foot three. "Don't play dumb," he seethed. "I don't have time for this. In case you didn't notice, I'm bleeding out here, and the boss really needs this information. Oh, for God's sake, if you need to tie me up and blindfold me, just do it, but get me to him now!"  
  
It was impossible to tell if those two were paranoid, or simply stupid, but they did as Jared told them and a couple of minutes later he heard Jeffrey's indignant voice.  
  
"What the hell is that? Untie him at once!" And then he saw Jeffrey's equally indignant face, his eyes under furrowed brow trained at him. Jeffrey cursed under his breath and shook his head. For the first time ever Jared saw his mentor at a loss for words.   
  
He looked around the small room. It was similar to all the other offices Jeffrey worked from. Maps and papers filled with notes covered the shabby desk. A few chairs stood in disarray, some of them also covered with papers. A row of cabinets at the wall reminded Jared of the principal’s office in his old school, long ago, in a previous life. Jeffrey sat behind the desk but that didn't really intimidate Jared.  
  
"They are after you," he said quietly. "The Confederation. They sent a ship full of soldiers here to get you."  
  
"And you defied my orders to tell me that?"  
  
"Nah. I kind of found out by an accident."  
  
"Why did you not do as you were told then?" It was odd, but Jeffrey didn't appear the littlest bit surprised that Jared was back.  
  
"Why did you even send me away? I'm sorry. I don't need to know that. You give an order and I have to follow but ... The simple explanation is that I got caught. Dumb luck, Jeffrey, really. The falsified documents were good enough to fool them and I was forcibly included in the crew of this cruiser, _The Vigilante_. That's the whole story."  
  
"Is it?" Jeffrey didn't make it sound like a question. He knew it wasn't. It was all about Jensen and Jeffrey knew it as well as Jared. He was sent away, because he fell in love and he missed his transport to San Francisco, because he wanted to return to the man he fell in love with.   
  
"I'm sorry, Jeffrey. I never meant any disrespect. It was the chain of events ... And perhaps one or two stupid choices. I don't regret I'm back though. I had a chance to warn you, that's gotta count for something."  
  
"It does." Jeffrey rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Besides we have a change of plans, so perhaps it's for the better that you're back," he measured Jared from head to toe through narrowed eyes, his face unreadable. "You look like death warmed over. Go to the infirmary then eat something. Get back here when you're cleaned and rested, best tomorrow morning. I'll let you know all about the recent events here and I'm sure you're gonna love them." Jeffrey treated him to the weirdest sight Jared had ever seen -- he actually smiled. "It's good to see you, boy."  
  
***  
  
Jared had his wound patched up, got dosed up with pain killers and for a moment he seriously considered obeying the nurse who told him to get some rest. His stomach grumbled though, so he made a stop at the canteen on his way to the classroom he was assigned to sleep in along with a few more recruits.  
  
They served brownish gray broth, not much better-looking than the one he ate onboard _The Vigilante_ , and tasting equally nourishing. He was sure there was everything needed to strengthen the body in it. Besides he was hungry, so he devoured one bowl and then requested another. At least there were no limitations, so he might eat seven if he wanted, or so the cook said. On the third one Jared started paying attention to his surroundings  
  
"Morgan is making a mistake," a hushed angry whisper reached his ears and Jared perked up. The man who said it was none other than Steve Carlson and he was talking to ... Chris Kane. So Misha made it back but that did not explain what those two, especially the truck driver, were doing in the heart of Morgan's Group.  
  
"Hi, guys." Jared stood up, took his bowl and sat beside the two of them with the frendliest smile he could put on his face. "I see you made it back, that's great! I made it back too." He gestured to Kane's broth with his spoon, "It's good, isn't it?" then returned to eating. The two men remained silent and glaring at him.  
  
"Yeah," Carlson recovered first. "It's great to see you too. How did you get back?"  
  
"Oh, it's a long story." He wanted to get _them_ to talk. He wanted to know why they thought Morgan was wrong about something. Jared could laugh at himself and his blind faith in his mentor, and his devotion to protect him and his name and his decisions, but the truth was, Morgan was a genius. And if someone in the Group, some newbies, thought otherwise, they needed to be either straightened up, or denounced. Jared shook his head and wiped his forehead exaggeratedly, then chuckled. "I'd love to tell you but I'm beat. I'll just eat this and ... maybe another one, damn, I'm hungry. Then I gotta get some rest. Got shot, could you believe that? In the leg! How's your leg by the way?"  
  
"Healing."  
  
"Good! That's good." He patted Carlson's arm. "So, what are you doing here? You brought that intel about mind controlled bombs?" he winked. "What did Jeffrey say?"  
  
"I brought that intel and more." Steve threw the napkin on the table, obviously upset. "And damn it, Jared, the mole I told you about back in Seattle was not neutralized at all!" Jared furrowed his brow. How the hell did he know that Chad was walking free? "He's right here damnit, and Jeffrey is planning the big op based on what this guy is telling him!"  
  
"He's here?..." Jared couldn't believe what he was hearing. He saw Murray walk on to _The Vigilante_ He felt panic grip his stomach in iron-cold claws. _The Vigilante_ spy was right here. All the gunners! Jeff was in danger, everyone was in danger! Why didn't they attack yet, though? What?--  
  
"Yeah," Carlson seethed. "And from what I hear, you recommended him to join the Group!" What? "He fooled you, Jared, manipulated your feelings and made you trust him. That's what they do. They don't need any bombs -- they just make you feel what they want you to feel. If he wanted you to hate Jeffrey enough to kill him, you would do just that."  
  
No! Jared glared at Carlson with horror. This could never happen. Could it?  
  
"And it's my fault," Kane spoke finally, glaring somewhere above Jared's right shoulder. "I brought him here."  
  
Jared turned around and ... he saw Jensen, standing a few steps away, looking right at him with eyes so bright, his smile so lovely. First, Jared felt his heart leap up with surprise, joy and so much love he thought he might burst. But right then all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place and he realized what Carlson and Kane were talking about.  
  
Jensen shouldn't be here. Jensen shouldn't even know about Morgan's Group. How did he get in then? And for what purpose? For what reason? He saw Jensen's face change, reflecting his own inner turmoil. How could he know that? The only explanation that fit was that he was indeed some kind of psychic, one of those Steve talked about. What was it he just said? That the Confederation spy fooled him, manipulated his feelings? Was it possible? Did Jensen use his abilities to make Jared fall in love with him? It wasn't real then? This love, this longing, missing Jensen ... Damnit, he fluked his mission because of that love.  
  
"Damn you," he seethed at Jensen, feeling hate and contempt bubble up. He stood up, couldn't even tell when, but he was glaring down at Jensen and Jensen looked like he was physically punched in the stomach. There was no remorse in Jared though, no pity. He wouldn't be manipulated. Not like this. When he chose to trust someone it was by his own free will. Jensen was shaking his head helplessly but it was too late, far, far too late.  
  
Jared stormed out of the canteen, pushing people away, blind to their faces and deaf to their indignant curses.


	18. Chapter 18

Jensen had known Jared was coming back. Nobody had believed that but he had known and he had been right. He had known the moment Jared had entered the building; he had known Jared had gone to speak to Jeffrey first and he hadn't been going to intrude on that. Jared had been hurting so he'd needed to take care of that too, before Jensen would go meet him and by the time Jared had left the infirmary, the longing in Jensen's heart was almost unbearable. Nicky had noticed his agitation. When he had told her the reason for it, she only smiled and had said, "Go to him."  
  
He'd almost ran.  
  
In the first split second when their eyes had met, Jensen'd felt engulfed by light. If Heaven existed, this must have been what it felt like. Jared had missed him too, had wanted to meet him again, had loved him.  
  
But then his emotions had started to change, transform, darken to the point of complete, utter blackness of hate. The pain it'd caused had been physical and Jensen hadn't even noticed when Jared had left. He had only been aware of the growing physical distance, even if emotionally they remained connected and the hate, the disgust were consuming him even now.   
  
He felt some other presence nearby but everybody else was bleak, meaningless, compared to Jared's light, to Jared's darkness. He needed to speak with Jared, to explain, but he had no way to do so, because his voice was gone, drowned in overwhelming suffering.  
  
***  
  
"What did you do?" Jeffrey stormed into Jared's classroom and the few recruits who were still in there vanished like dust blown by the wind. "Did you speak with Jensen yesterday?"  
  
"He came to me. I couldn't really help it."  
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"Frankly ... Nothing. I think."  
  
"What did you _think_?" Jeffrey growled. "What did you _feel_?"  
  
"What I should have felt all along!" Jared sprung to his feet and faltered. Damn his leg. "He's a traitor and you have him right next to you. He has your trust; he's almost your right-hand man! That's exactly what he needed me for. To get to you! Don't you see that? This … This, whatever, between us, it never existed!" Jeffrey couldn't even fathom how much it hurt Jared to say those words. But that's how it was, he had to accept that. The love of his life had never loved him, not truly. And he, damn it, he had never really loved him either, it was all a manipulation.  
  
Jared turned away from Jeffrey, so his stand-in father couldn't see his tears.  
  
"You had been right about him all along," he choked out.  
  
"No, son." Jeffrey placed a hand on his back. "I think you are wrong now."  
  
"It's his manipulation. Don't you see that?" Jared shook his head helplessly but he let Jeffrey's hand linger there, relishing the warmth and comfort it provided. The truth was he was heartbroken and he had no idea if he'd even be whole again. Such betrayal would leave a scar.  
  
"What are you planning?" he turned back to Jeffrey. He needed to know. He needed to see if it really was a mistake, to make Jeffrey aware of it, if it was and to prevent it at all cost.  
  
"We have to destroy the facility Jensen was trained at," Jeffrey said with emphasis. "Jared, there's no doubt about that -- this place is dangerous, more dangerous than we can imagine. From what Jensen told me, and before you start, yes, I take his words with grain of salt, but this one I'd rather believe in, he's one of their less threatening assets. He's not capable of reading someone else's mind, only emotions, and he's unable to manipulate other people's thoughts. As for feelings, Jared, I honestly don't think it's as simple as you accuse him of, but that's for you to decide and I'm not really sure myself. So there, you see that I do not trust him all that completely. I believe, however, that he has to be in direct contact with his target to manipulate them but there are probably people who can do that long distance. And this threat we have to eliminate. Do you think we have a choice in the matter?"  
  
Jared had to admit that Jeffrey was not wrong.  
  
"Samantha and Jim are on their way south as we speak and they'll prepare ground for the op. She knows Flagstaff and she says that Jensen didn't appear to have lied about the layout of the facility. We may only have one shot at this and I am well aware how risky it is. But see, Jared, sometimes the only thing that may save you is also the thing that may kill you if you play it wrong. I needed you to trust and love Jensen, because I believed his love for you was sincere. I still do, I saw him this morning and..." Jeffrey shook his head, then took in a deep breath and met Jared's eyes. "I'll understand if you can't do that though. I'm only unsure how this will affect him. I hope his training won't win back now that his ties to us are severed. We'll have to watch him closely. Meanwhile I'll need you to co-ordinate our march out from here with Misha. You think you're up to it?"  
  
***  
  
Words were reaching him, but their meaning was elusive.  
  
"Maybe there's someone else you love? If you need to love and be loved. What about me? What about Jeffrey? We all care about you. I know it's maybe not enough, but ... I do love you, Jensen. Not like this, but like a friend."  
  
He didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything, neither from her, nor from Jared. Where earlier was a myriad of emotions, even before Jared came back, all the people nearby pulling him in ten thousand different directions, now was nothing, a quiet so profound it felt like it had been in his headspace forever.   
  
"Eric," his mouth moved. He wasn't sure of his voice, was it there? Was it a whisper? Was it merely a thought?  
  
"Who's Eric?" No, it was not a thought if she asked in response, right? Jensen fought to move his eyes, to find the whitish splotch with two darker dots and something pink, moving. A face.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Nicky."  
  
"Nicky." Who was Nicky? He remembered Nicky's insecurity, enthusiasm, shyness, but there was nothing of it in the splotch with eyes and moving lips.  
  
"Who is Eric, Jensen?" she repeated words that had no meaning. "How can we reach him?"  
  
"Through MacKenzie." A spark. A girl with blue eyes and golden curls. "I think maybe I know her."  
  
"MacKenzie? Jensen, please, you have to be more specific."  
  
He tried to focus, to remember. A phone, he was calling her and she ... What if she was a way for them to track him? The Confederation? He would put them in danger. He didn't want that, it was the only, the last thing that had a meaning. The last resolve he had to cling to. He had to protect them. Whoever they were.  
  
But the blue eyes and golden hair were his only salvation. How was he supposed to make such choice?  
  
***  
  
When MacKenzie had been a little girl she'd had an imaginary friend named Jensen. At least that's what she had been told. And frankly, Jensen had been too good to be real. He'd always appeared when she'd been sad or had a bad dream. He could make her laugh without words, simply by being by her side. He had known what she'd been thinking. Only imaginary friends might know what you were thinking.   
  
When MacKenzie had been four years old, just before the war, she and her family had moved from Kansas to Canada. Of course Jensen had come with her but Mom and Dad had been getting very upset whenever she'd spoken about him, so he'd soon become her secret. Then she'd gone to school, met real friends and he'd faded away. Never completely though. There had been moments, bad days, friends' betrayals, first loves and first heartbreaks, war fears, arguments with Mom and Dad. Many, many occasions when MacKenzie would go to her room, lock herself up there and cry and beg for Jensen to come and comfort her. And he'd always come, unfalteringly. She'd feel warmth that could not be just herself feeling better because she'd cried out her pain -- as ridiculous as it sounded.   
  
She'd tried not to overanalyze this.  
  
Until a few nights ago when she'd been woken up by a phone call in the middle of the night. The caller had introduced himself as 'Jensen' and she had simply _known_ it had been him.The next night a dream -- about him -- woke her up. And she realized that lately she had been thinking about him more often than usual.  
  
When MacKenzie announced at breakfast, "Jensen called me yesterday," her mother dropped a plate she was holding and her father froze with a cup of coffee half up to his mouth. Neither of them told her to stop with this nonsense, neither rebuked her. In her mother eyes she saw a flicker of ... hope. And she made her decision. "I'm going to find him."  
  
"Mac..." Mother gasped.  
  
"This could be dangerous," Dad warned. No 'he's not real', no 'forget about it', but 'this could be dangerous'. Mac's heart started pounding like crazy. So Jensen was not just a figment of her imagination and she'd been lied to all her life. "When did he call? What did he say?" they were asking but she only shook her head.   
  
She was adult now, she was about to move out of their house. She didn't owe them anything, information about their long abandoned son -- because it was obvious now -- at least.  
  
"I'll let you know when I find him," she promised nonetheless, because her mother looked heartbroken and her father's jaw was clenched so tight the sheer force could shatter his teeth. She loved them and she didn't want to hurt them, but they'd hurt her and she couldn't forgive it right away.   
  
She left them there, unfinished breakfast and all. She would need to turn for help to her friends. One of them claimed to know everything that was happening in Vancouver. If anyone would help her, it would be Lauren Cohan.  
  
***  
  
Misha Collins was never as annoying as he was when he and Jared were discussing the best way to cross the border. They argued about everything, from the routes, to the ways of dividing people into groups, to the means of transport. The only thing they could agree on was that getting through the border was the hardest part.  
  
Unfortunately Collins was appointed the leader of the Second Column of the Group, while Jeffrey would lead Column One. That left him with the deciding voice, at least concerning his half of the three hundred men and women who were supposed to start leaving three days ago and had just a little over two weeks to get to their destination.  
  
"So, you think that dressing your people as Gypsies, or punks, is going to solve the problem?" Jared mocked, trying very hard not to punch the smug smile off Misha's face. "We're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves!"  
  
"So you think that fifty random vehicles suddenly wanting to cross into the Confederation territory from Vancouver will be so damn inconspicuous?"  
  
"That's why we're spreading alongside the border. Your people will cross in Osoyoos, in Midway and Spokane. Hell, you said yourself that you're sending one group as far as middle Montana.  
  
"Glad you don't want us to go through Toronto!"  
  
"Hey, we have the more difficult path, right under damn Confederation noses!"  
  
"That's why you should dress up too!"  
  
"This is ridiculous!"  
  
"It's not as if it may save your life!"  
  
"Damn it, you think they won't search a vehicle that looks so ... so ... Misha! If they find even one piece of weaponry, they are going to close the border and then they'll catch each and every one of our transports, people and cargo alike!"  
  
"They aren't going to search us."  
  
"And how are you so sure?"  
  
"They're just not! Goddamnit, would you just let me do my job and concentrate on yours? Did you pick convergence points midway?"  
  
"Yeah. Our people go to Las Vegas and yours should meet outside Salt Lake City."  
  
"Isn't that too far away from our destination? We would be travelling in a really large pack afterwards - that would make it look suspicious. I'd say, maybe Grand Canyon? What cities are there?"  
  
Jared wanted to throw things at his colleague.  
  
"Damn it, Misha! If you have a better idea about everything, why don't you plan it all! Including the attack."  
  
"Maybe we should go to Jeffrey and ask him of he'd permit it?"  
  
"I was only kidding."  
  
"So was I, kid. Seriously, chill, it's not personal. We're both trying to come up with the best solutions, so let's just keep working on it together. This way we may start the whole process much faster. We can't have all those people leave at once, right? We still have to plan who goes when, so we meet up in as short a window as possible, so as not to attract attention to those hundred plus people gathered in one place. Can we get back to work now?"


	19. Chapter 19

MacKenzie had a dream about Jensen the next night as well. Then she started glimpsing visions of him during the day. Lauren was glaring at her like she was a weirdo, but Mac knew she had to find him soon, or else she'd go crazy.  
  
"I don't know," she snapped when Lauren asked her for the hundredth time to describe the building Jensen seemed to be in. "We figured out it's probably a school. How am I supposed to know which one?"  
  
"All I'm asking is the color of the walls, or the pattern on the floor."  
  
"I don't know. Right now all I keep seeing is the ceiling..." she stopped suddenly. "Do you think he's hurt? Oh my God, he's lying on his back, that's why all I keep seeing is the ceiling, Lauren! What if he's dying?"  
  
"Calm down, girl." Lauren shook her head. "Ten schools in Vancouver were abandoned during the war, kids moved to another districts. I was in one of those, but there's a residential building on the site now, would you believe? I think another three were demolished as well for one reason or another. That leaves us with six. Those tables you talked about, pushed to the walls -- were they high, or low, like for elementary grades?"  
  
"High, I think. Normal size."  
  
"Then it might be high school, or junior high. That eliminates Willsons' and Green Garden. The other four -- you may scout them all, I'll give you the addresses. Unless you have something specific that I could work with."  
  
"There's a thick shrubbery outside the window, if that helps."  
  
"Unfortunately not. Most abandoned buildings are surrounded by some kind of undergrowth. What about those people he's with?"  
  
"Nothing. I can't even see their faces. It's like they are ghosts." She shook her head. There was one name that kept popping to her mind, Jared, but it was no help for Lauren. "I think there might be one more name." Mac bit her lip. "But it's so vague, I'm not even sure ... Morgan? I don't--"  
  
"Morgan?" Lauren jumped up. "Are you sure?"  
  
"No. That's what I said, I don't even know--"  
  
Lauren didn't let her finish, jumping up to pick up her phone. "If that's what I think it is, then girl, you're either in more trouble than you think, or you may have just found your boy, or probably both. Oh my God, this is _huge_! Wait a minute." She ran out of the room, talked for a few moments just outside the door, but Mac couldn't make out the words over the roar of blood in her own ears, then Lauren came back panting, like after a long run. "A friend of mine may get you a meeting with a guy. He'll call me as soon as he knows something. You okay? Mac?"  
  
MacKenzie couldn't say a word. She gaped at Lauren and couldn't believe this was really happening. Jensen, who up until three days ago was nothing more than a dream, might actually become real flesh and blood. She hoped he was alright because she couldn't stand losing him now. 'Please, hang in there, Jensen,' she thought and she hoped he could hear her, somehow.  
  
***  
  
It was cold and Jared hadn't slept nearly enough. He and Misha had sent seven transports the previous afternoon and the final one's departure stretched until nearly midnight. Misha was supposed to leave later today and Jared was going before dawn with Jeffrey. His was the only transport Jared knew nothing about as Jeffrey'd organized it himself. That would leave ten more groups -- forty-three people -- at their hiding place for the remaining two days, until they'd leave too, to meet again one thousand miles south.  
  
"What are our plans once we get there?" Jared asked Jeffrey as their truck rolled out of the compound.  
  
"I don't know," Jeffrey answered in a calm voice.  
  
Jared didn't feel calmed by this response. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. "You? Don't tell me you have no plan and that you're going to improvise. That's beyond silly."  
  
"I have no plan and I'm not going to improvise. See, Jared, I may have told everyone that I trust Jensen but I do not. This is why I sent Samantha and Jim ahead a few days ago. They are going to come up with the plan and we are going to follow it.  
  
"Oh." That was surprising. "So you basically relinquished control over the entire operation. That's gotta be a first."  
  
"Well, kiddo, there's a first time for everything."  
  
"And you think it fooled Jensen, how?"  
  
"Actually I don't even know if it did. But I don't think it matters anyway. He's been ... I don't want you to feel guilty about this, you hear me, boy?" Jeffrey made sure Jared understood before he continued. "I think I may have underestimated his dedication to you," he sighed. "Your pushing him away did more damage than I expected. It's like he doesn't even care if he's gonna live or not. I feel sorry for him a little but then, I don't know if it's not just his lingering influence, his tricking me into caring about him, if you know what I mean. Like what he did with you, only..." he hesitated. "The emotion is different."  
  
Jared sat in silence pondering on what he'd heard. He was not supposed to worry about Jensen. He was supposed to hate him and ... to hell with him! But the thought of Jensen losing the will to live made his stomach clench. Made him want to jump out of the van and run right back to the base and tell Jensen to hang in there, so they could argue and yell at each other, and maybe resolve it later in some passionate sex. Shit. He hated himself for being so weak.  
  
"Or maybe," he heard Jeffrey's whisper, that maybe wasn't even destined for his ears, it was so soft. "Maybe I really care about him. How am I supposed to know which feelings are real and which are not?"  
  
Jared turned away, his eyes stinging treacherously again. He didn't need this inner conflict right now, he needed to focus on the mission and so did Jeffrey. He pulled the flap at the back of the vehicle a little and looked out at the street.  
  
"Where the hell are we going?" he asked, alarmed. The buildings looked dangerously like a port neighborhood.  
  
"To the wharf," Jeffrey responded as if it was the most natural thing in the world and Jared exploded.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?"  
  
"Easy--"  
  
"There's a battle cruiser full of trained soldiers out there to get you! Not to mention that they know me!"  
  
"Fortunately they do not know me, do they? I don't think so."  
  
"Chad's on that boat."  
  
"Have I ever met Chad?" He hadn't, that was true. "Good. Stop freaking out then and be quiet. As far as I'm concerned we are fishermen on our way to work. We have all the papers that the coast guard will be checking. If you don't act suspiciously, yelling like a loon for example, we should be safe."  
  
Jared sat back down, but his heart didn't stop hammering until the boat was floating on the canal and he could see the silhouette of _The Vigilante_ anchored at the pier in the distance. At least he thought it must have been _The Vigilante_ \-- he couldn't be certain, because the distance was too large to see any details.  
  
They headed toward the channels connecting Vancouver Bay and Salish Sea with the open ocean to the northwest from the city. They were limited to catching five tons of salmon up there. They didn't expect lots of patrols and Jeffrey was hoping to sneak out to the Pacific before afternoon. On the open sea they would only have to travel six hundred miles at top speed and find a patrol-free landing spot near the capitol city of the Confederation. Piece of cake. Then they had to travel inland for another day at least to their convergence point near Fresno. Jared had no idea about their route out there either, but he trusted Jeffrey. The boss was capable of thinking outside the box if their sailing course was anything to go by.  
  
***  
  
Jeffrey warned Misha that Jensen Ackles was a threat -- and that's why he wanted the empath to be supervised by his second-in-command -- but Misha found it hard to believe. Of course he knew about Jared's infatuation with him, but that was easily understandable, the kid was nothing short of beautiful. He was unfortunately also unresponsive and appeared brain-damaged. Nicky laid him on the cot in the back of their colorfully decorated camper, and she still sat there, watching him, as they drove down Crowsnest Highway past the old crossing in Midway and then down to Spokane, where the current border between the Confederation and the Union of Canada and America was.  
  
They had taken a few stops on the road, then parked just outside Spokane and slept till the wee hours before dawn. Then Gary and Jack sat in the front of the van, certifiably slumped and neglectful, their guns creatively hidden in the folds of their multilayered clothing. Cindy and Misha inspected the rear space of their apparent living compartment, making sure any arms, grenades and sophisticated equipment was hidden underneath tons of dirty, foul-smelling clothes in the crates under their beds.  
  
Of course Misha was mostly hoping the guards wouldn't be bothered at all. If they were stopped by a patrol, he was hoping the soldiers would be fooled by their appearance, but if that didn't help and the patrol wanted to search the van anyway, Misha thought about using Jensen. He would beg them, ferociously, not to move his ill friend. They might be merciful. Or, more probably, not and in that case they would do exactly the opposite he asked them. That's why he didn’t hide anything incriminating in the crate under the bed where Jensen lay right now. All that was in there were dirty, stinking rags. If that didn't help, and they wished to search the other crates, well, the only hope was that they wouldn’t dig under the upper layers ... After that there was only shooting.  
  
"Nicky!" Misha glared at the girl hovering over their catatonic not-quite prisoner, not-quite ally with a cup of water. "Stop cooing over him and start singing. Jack says we're nearing the area infested with patrols. We must look like Gypsies." He picked his balalaika and started fiddling with it. Cindy joined him with her sewing kit, pretending to repair a brightly-colored embroidering on a camisole.  
  
"This was the most stupid idea in the whole world," Nicky spat.  
  
"What, you'd rather have us pretend to be the poor rags from Canada who want to join the great Confederation? Like Jackson and ten other teams?"  
  
"Seven. And at least they are inconspicuous."  
  
"Until there's suddenly too many of them. I told Jeffrey that we need to spread it in time, or be diverse. At least _some_ of the teams listened to me." He thought fondly of the group of punks in the red convertible and hoped they had outraced all Confederation patrols, before driving their car off a cliff near Kettle River and burning their punk clothes. They were supposed to try hitch-hiking to Davenport separately after that, and would be picked up eventually by other teams on similar routes. Of course they carried no ammo.  
  
Nicky was still glaring at him begrudgingly.  
  
"We did spread it across the border though. If I remember correctly a few teams went as far as Dakota."  
  
"I sure hope not. We'd have to wait for them for two weeks!"  
  
"You know, sometimes it feels to me that you'd rather be in the lead of the whole operation, you're so critical of Jeffrey!"  
  
"Sometimes I think so too."  
  
That got Nicky to shut up. Finally. She was very bright, Misha couldn't deny that; they needed her computer skills, but her hero-worship of Jeffrey was annoying. No, Misha didn't seriously think about taking over; he did obey Jeffrey, but for much more rational reasons -- the man was as competent as they get and he had unbelievable charisma. Which made it all the more surprising that he felt threatened by the freak -- as Misha thought of Jensen. Was there really some sort of mental manipulation on the empath's part, he wondered. If so, he must have considered Misha non-threatening because he didn't even try to make him do anything. Or maybe Misha's ideas about taking over were not his own, but came from him?  
  
No, Misha didn't really want to take over. He shook his head as if willing the unwanted consciousness to leave his mind and peeked through the dirty window of the van. They were slowing down. That made his heart speed up in turn.  
  
"Patrol," he whispered to the girls.  
  
Nicky leaned over Jensen, biting her lips and he -- for the first time since the start of this journey -- actually looked up at her and furrowed his brow for a fleeting moment. Then his gaze lost focus again. Misha cursed under his breath. He didn't need any trouble.   
  
He heard Jack's voice, feigning a thick eastern European accent. Misha was the only one who knew a few words in one of the European languages and could pretend to be an actual Gypsy. When Jack got out of his seat, Misha opened the door to the back compartment of the van and said to the girls.  
  
"Cicho bondzcie." Then turned to the soldiers, "How can I help you officers?"  
  
"What's your business here?" The taller of the two neared the entrance and stepped into Misha's personal space. Misha stepped back with feigned intimidation but did not let the man in.  
  
"We're travelling." He kept both his hands on the door frame. "We do not mean no harm."  
  
"What you got in there?"  
  
"Please. One of our men is ill. I do not wish to disturb him."  
  
"I don't care for your wish!" The officer pushed Misha out of the way with the butt of his riffle and Misha seriously wished he could simply punch him in the mouth. He couldn't though. He had to keep a low profile.   
  
The other officer eyed him for a moment and when Misha looked up, he averted his gaze. Misha stepped away and both Confederation soldiers entered the van.  
  
"Get up," the taller officer barked at Jensen.  
  
So far all was going according to the plan, except that plan A actually consisted of the patrol leaving them alone. Well, if they couldn't have that, at least they would trick them into searching the only compartment that had nothing incriminating in it.  
  
"Please," Misha begged. "Please, don't move him. He's ill and he needs to rest. Please, let him stay where he is."  
  
The officer turned, narrowing his eyes. "Let him stay where he is?" he mocked as was expected. "I don't think so. Banks!" he spat at his colleague and the colleague obediently came closer and pulled at Jensen's arm. He did that in a surprisingly gentle manner but what was more startling, was that Jensen's eyes actually locked with his for a little longer than a heartbeat.  
  
Misha and Nicky exchanged glances -- she noticed that too.  
  
While the tall officer was rummaging through all the dirty clothes in the box underneath the cot vacated by Jensen, officer Banks stood supporting him. Jensen's head fell forward and Nicky jumped to help him but he clung onto Banks with a soft whine. Banks started. The ruder officer managed to throw everything out of the crate and found nothing. Jensen swayed on his feet and Misha got concerned that he wouldn't be able to get through the whole search. _They should go already!_ , he thought angrily. _He needs to lay down!_   
  
"There's nothing here," Banks told his colleague who was staring at one of the other crates. Misha's heart skipped a beat when he approached it and opened it. On the surface this was only another crate full of quilts, pillowslips and blankets, smelling even worse than the previous one. But under a thin layer of fabrics was a metal case filled with grenades. Misha put his hand on the bat he had hidden under his robe. He noticed Cindy and Nicky tense as well. Jensen whined feebly one more time and Banks addressed his colleague again. "Look, they are just poor people and this one is really sick. He's burning up. We should give them medicine, some antibiotics, not threaten them!"  
  
"Antibiotics?" the tall officer snarled. "Are you out of your mind?"  
  
"Well at least we can leave them alone." Jensen's former cot looked like a grenade exploded in it, so Banks closed the lid on the crate his colleague was about to inspect and, with Nicky's help, lowered Jensen onto it. "We're leaving," he said.  
  
"Whatever," the big guy spat and thundered out of the van, pushing Misha out of the way.  
  
A minute later they were back on the road and Nicky was fretting over Jensen again. Misha leaned to him as well, this time really concerned. To his surprise though, Jensen appeared more coherent than ever in the last two days. He was looking at Nicky and his lips curved slightly upwards, the corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'm alright, Nicky," he whispered. "It was just an act for the compassionate one. And it worked, didn't it?" he smiled.   
  
***  
  
 _Hang in there, Jensen. Hang in there and get stronger._ That was like a mantra MacKenzie kept repeating in her head over and over again. It was working, she knew it was. _I'm coming to you, my brother._  
  
Lauren's friend called her back a couple of days later, and Mac was nearly going out of her mind by then. She tried to find the schools Lauren had told her about, but they were all in distant parts of the city, so it took her all day to inspect them without any significant results. When the man called and told her where he wanted to meet her, she ran there without even taking her things from Lauren's place.  
  
"This is Chris," Lauren's friend introduced her to a haunted-looking man who appeared both regretful and wistful at the same time.  
  
"Who did you say you were looking for?" he asked without much of an introduction.  
  
"Jensen Ackles," Mac choked out.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I think he's my brother." Honesty couldn't hurt at this point.  
  
"Your brother, huh?"  
  
Mac shrugged. If he wouldn't believe that, what else could she do? This was her only shot.  
  
"What?--" Chris started and stopped. "How?--" He couldn't find the right question. She had to help then.  
  
"How do I know? I just feel it, okay. We were separated when I was just a toddler, I can't remember him very well. In fact, most of my life I thought I imagined him. And I'm sorry, but I can't explain how I know this, but he needs me now and I have to get to him, or else ... I don't know what's gonna happen to him."  
  
"Damn!" was Chris's only response. That and kicking a nearby tree.  
  
"What?" Mac hated how her voice squeaked at the question. She couldn’t lose this trail now!  
  
"Sorry. I just ... I don't know what to think anymore." Chris turned and looked at her and she saw despair in his eyes. "I shouldn't do this, I shouldn’t be helping you. Him. He's the enemy ... But maybe not. Maybe you could ..." He took in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Come with me."  
  
They walked down the block, Chris looking behind his shoulder every five steps, like he was afraid that the guy who brought Mac here, Lauren's friend, would follow them.  
  
"I don't know who to trust anymore. Are you sure you're not with the Confederates?"  
  
"I am sure. Do you believe me!" She was starting to feel paranoid herself.  
  
"Come here tomorrow, at five a.m. Jensen's not in town anymore and I'm about to follow the rest ... Tomorrow. At dawn. Be here."  
  
Chris left in a hurry and Mac stood with a crumpled sheet of paper thrust into her palm, afraid to look at it. This was her ticket to Jensen. He was getting away from her, she could feel it, but she also knew that her pleas for him to hang in there were taking their effect. He was not so detached anymore and she could see the faces of the people who were with him. A woman with a friendly smile and a suspicious man. They were helping him and she would get to him soon too -- she would help him as well.


	20. Chapter 20

Gathering in Fresno left Jared slightly sidelined. Jeffrey was back in comand mode and he called a meeting with team leaders, as well as with a contingent of people from San Francisco, sent here to help by the guy he was supposed to contact, Mark Pellegrino. How on earth did Jeffrey contact him anyway would always remain Jeffrey's mystery, as Jared was too ashamed of his failed mission to ask.   
  
Right now Jeffrey needed his people to regroup. He needed to know which teams had made it and if there was any point waiting for those that had still been en route -- or worse, were captured. From what Jared could tell eleven out of sixteen teams were present and accounted for. The other five might appear any minute or they might never appear at all. They might have gotten captured and then their convergence point could be compromised. The whole mission might be compromised. But that was Jeffrey's to worry about.  
  
Jared was responsible for the morale. He needed to see if team members had everything they needed and if some required additional provisions or support, he'd have to find it for them, even take from those who had surplus, if there was any. He walked around the camp, talked to the people, looked into their faces and ... No, he was not seeing Jensen everywhere he turned.  
  
The truth was he saw Jensen only once. Jared turned abruptly. It was only a moment ago, he looked at someone and they had those irresistible green eyes, exactly the same -- sparkling, bright. Where was that person? Jared scanned the group of people gathered near a small fire and he spotted Chris Kane first. Then the girl talking to him looked up again. Fair hair, slim face. And those eyes, she had Jensen's eyes.  
  
Jared strode toward her.  
  
"Who are you? I can't remember seeing you before?"  
  
"Her name's MacKenzie, and it's all my fault." Kane stood up. "I guess I messed up again. She's looking for," he swallowed hard. "Jensen."  
  
Jared glared at her and she appeared so small and vulnerable and at the same time so strong underneath.  
  
"He's my brother," she said softly and Jared believed her without hesitation.  
  
The only thing that surprised him was how his stomach twisted at the sight of her undeniable longing to meet him again. Damn, he missed Jensen too, terribly and it angered him. He hadn't wanted that; he'd told himself he wouldn't care, but suddenly he resented Jeffrey for sending Jensen with Misha's division. It was still a few days before they could meet and Jared wanted to talk, to ask for an explanation. It was possible that he would simply fall under Jensen's charm all over again, but he needed to speak with him nonetheless.  
  
MacKenzie watched him with questions written all over her face. Apparently his emotions were also visible, or else she was an empath just like her brother.  
  
"He's not here," Jared blurted out and she deflated.  
  
"Where is he then?"  
  
"En route. Honestly, that's all I can tell right now. Sorry." He escaped from her right then but returned before he could think twice about it  
  
It was strange, he thought. From what he heard, mostly from Steve Carlson, those human-weapon people were some kind of mutants, most likely genetically engineered, and here, this girl claimed to be Jensen's sister. It wasn't hard to believe, considering she looked a lot like Jensen. He had to ask her how that was possible.   
  
"I'm afraid I won't be of much help," she said to his dismay. "Up until last week I was convinced Jensen was a figment of my childhood imagination." She told Jared all about her imaginary friend and how shocked she was to hear his name over the phone, and that woke a strange feeling in her, like something long forgotten was about to surface. She needed to find the truth. If Jensen was really real, she needed to meet him.  
  
"He is real, alright. And he looks a lot like you, MacKenzie."  
  
"Does he--" she hesitated. "Does he make the people around him feel good?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I wonder if that was only something I imagined as well, or was it simply a brother thing, but I never cried when he was near me. I can't recall anyone ever having that, I don't know, kind of magical effect on me, not even Mom. I guess that's why I later thought of him as an imaginary friend who had always been doing what I wanted or needed."  
  
"Yeah," Jared wondered about that too. Jensen was too good to be real. He was the answer to all his needs. "I fell in love with him," he confessed. "He _is_ perfect." He only wondered if this was the real Jensen. Who was the real Jensen?  
  
***  
  
The wind brought smells of dried grass and earth heated by the sun. Late August in Arizona was still very warm. Jeffrey followed Samantha and Jim up the hill to their observation spot opposite the Snow Bowl. There was no snow on the mountain in the middle of the summer of course, but Jeffrey could well imagine how it would look in half a year.  
  
At the mountain feet in the valley between Snow Bowl and their little hill, stood a complex of a few buildings surrounded by a tall fence with wire on top of it which was heavily guarded. The three of them lay flat in the tall grass at the top and Jeffrey put binoculars to his eyes. He watched the soldiers for a long while, uninterrupted by neither Samantha or Jim. When he put it down and glanced at his lieutenant, Sam smiled smugly.  
  
"We know their patterns to a T. The time and the procedure of the guards' change. How they contact the outside world. Who is the most important officer in the facility and where he resides. The cells of the subjects of this experiment are in that building at the northern wall." She extended her hand, pointing a finger. Then she looked back at Jeffrey, still with that smile on her face. "And we have a plan of attack ready, prepared and waiting only for your command to go ahead!'"  
  
"The plan?" Jeffrey asked, then turned his head to the other side, to meet Jim's eyes. Jim simply nodded without a word. "Let me hear it."  
  
"Right away, sir." Sam obviously enjoyed being the brain behind all this. "They have a lot of people in there, thirty to fifty personnel and unknown number of psychics. Which, by the way, means that there are probably at least a couple of underground levels, but that's a different thing. Now, they need to feed all those people. So, every other day, early in the morning, a convoy of three to five vans with food and other supplies comes from Flagstaff. The drivers give the guards at that gate," she pointed again, "their ID cards, and the gate opens. Like magic!"  
  
"You want to get onto that convoy?" Jeffrey asked incredulously.  
  
"We can take over one of 'em," Jim cut in gruffly.  
  
"Yes." Samantha pulled Jeffrey and, trying to keep low in case some of the guards were looking at the top of the hill right this moment, they withdrew a few yards, then waded through the thick undergrowth and stopped when the view to the south opened. "Look over there." Samantha pointed toward Flagstaff. "The woods are dense. And there's one place where the turnpikes are really sharp and the trucks have to slow down. Taking them over, fifty men I think, will be a piece of cake."  
  
Jeffrey sighed. He would have to see the detailed plan of the attack but for now he gestured for Sam to continue.   
  
"We'd unload the food and get our people inside the vans, then drive to the gate, show the IDs and get in. Once inside, we'd split and one team would go toward the main headquarters, while the other would take care of the psychics. What do you think?"  
  
"Your plan has one, big, flaw, Sam. Do you honestly think it's just a matter of waving the ID card? We don't know what's on this card, maybe there's some information on who the driver is. It's not that simple!"  
  
"Jeffrey, darling," Samantha put her hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. "Do you honestly think we are amateurs? There's a picture and a fingerprint on the card. Furthermore, and that was a challenge, they have a security thread. Lucky for us, Malik found that counterfeit maestro in Flagstaff and the five cards we now have are masterpieces." She beamed with pride but Jeffrey couldn't see the reason to praise her yet.  
  
"You know all that, how?" He was sure he wasn't going to like the answer.  
  
"We stole a card from one of the drivers about a week ago. _After_ the delivery. They stopped at a diner and he went to the bathroom."  
  
"You stole a card."  
  
"Yes. Why? Is that a problem?"  
  
"And do you think they wouldn't notice that the card somehow disappeared?"  
  
Samantha chuckled. "Again, you underestimate us. We dropped the card at the bathroom half an hour later and made sure that he found it. Do you think he reported to his bosses that he was so neglectful to lose it while peeing? Oh my God, maybe we should call off the entire operation!" She opened her eyes wide in mock terror and Jeffrey contained the urge to smack her.  
  
"Fine, fine!" he said instead, exasperated. "What now?"  
  
"Now, Misha and his people came here last night, you know that already. We told him about our plan and he already chose his team leaders and briefed them. The trucks drive by around five a.m., so it's in--" she glanced at her watch. "Over twelve hours. Knowing their schedule, I can tell that tomorrow we should have three trucks, that's always better than five of them, right? Besides, with your and Misha's divisions here now, we have over three hundred people in the area. We have to move quickly, or else they'll start noticing things."  
  
She had a point. Jeffrey nodded, listening to her talk. They were going back to their camp and here, from the slope, Jeffrey could see the smoke lines against the bright sky and -- too often to consider it random -- he'd catch a glimpse of movement between the trees. No forest could hide three hundred people. The attack had to happen this night.  
  
"They are self-confident." Jim spoke, angling his head in a vague direction of the facility. "Arrogant. Don't even anticipate someone might want to take them down. There is security of course, but the way I see it, it's more to assure they are well-hidden, not that they're protected. There's maybe twenty actual soldiers in there, about thirty operating personnel. Misha's division alone can take them on."  
  
"I wouldn't be so bold," Jeffrey was not an optimist, ever.   
  
"We have your division and my people as a back-up, in case something goes wrong," Samantha provided.  
  
"Yes," Jeffrey nodded, "but that's not enough. If something goes wrong ..." he paused. They were back at the camp already; someone might hear. Discussing this in front of the men would be a mistake. "I need to see the plans of the attack on the convoy and then at the facility," he changed the subject.  
  
***  
  
For some reason Misha figured that taking Jensen with him to the attack on the facility made sense. Samantha and Jim agreed, but not for tactical reasons -- they both thought that having the empath as far away from Jeffrey and from the rest of their command team would be a good thing. And that seemed to be the only good thing coming from that. Jensen was upright at least, although it was obvious that it took a lot of effort. He was communicating too, much better than during the journey, so Misha could at least hope that once they entered the place, Jensen would give them directions if needed. No, they did not rely solely on him, they had Nicky's layout -- granted those were based on what Jensen remembered -- but they also had Samantha's intel from her observations. They knew the number of people and their estimated locations. All of that, combined, bode well.  
  
The air in the forest in Lamar Haines Memorial area was crisp this morning, the fog was growing more dense. The murk of night was slowly dissipating, giving way to the gray, damp morning. Forty people sat on the slope behind Misha's back, another thirty were camouflaged on the other side of the road. They were led by Julie McNiven, a fierce, red-haired chick, too experienced in combat for her age and physique. She was petite, had huge lovely eyes and seven successful bombings in San Francisco under her belt. Misha had nothing against her being his second-in-command during this mission. In fact, having heard about her résumé, he all but agreed eagerly. He only wished he could get to know her better after this was all over.  
  
In the distance, carried over by the mist, a sound of approaching vehicles was growing more and more audible. In a moment, possibly the most important battle in this war was about to begin.


	21. Chapter 21

Jared didn't believe in 'bad feelings' and crap like that, but it didn't prevent him from having a bad feeling right this minute. He was up on the hill with Samantha, Sandra and Jake Abel, watching the trucks roll slowly toward the gate of the facility.  
  
"Everything looks normal," Samantha whispered. "There's no reason for them to suspect anything." Nonetheless Jared's heart thudded in his chest and he could hear Sandra swallow loudly next to him. He was sure the people in those trucks felt the same way.  
  
Through the binoculars they could clearly see a hand emerge from the car window and give the small plastic card to the guard. The guard pressed the scanner an glared into it for a few, eternally long seconds. Then he gave the card back, mouthed some welcome and waved his hand. They were clear. Jared heaved a sigh of relief, thinking, _now only the hardest part_.  
  
The trucks all drove through the gate.  
  
The visibility was obscured by the ten-foot-tall wall, but the way the soldiers on the posts started moving quickly and the sounds of guns shooting were enough to know what was happening. It didn't last long. As the two attack forces moved inside their designated buildings, the shots were muffled and now there was no telling what was happening inside. They should have taken Jensen with them to the observation point. If he really was an empath, he might tune in to the people inside the facility and tell them if they were alright or not. As it was, all Jared and the tree people crouched next to him could do, was wait  
  
"I have a bad feeling about this," Jared said out loud.  
  
No one even tried to disagree with him.  
  
***  
  
"This is the corridor that will get us there," Jensen said. Misha didn't trust him and even though the feeling was vague, muted, it still almost physically hurt. "I'm not going to betray you," Jensen choked out and the leader recoiled internally.  
  
"I know," he said and he wanted to mean it, but ... "Rationally. What I feel though, I can't fully control that. Look, let's just go and free those ... brothers of yours. Julie?" he addressed the other group leader through the radio. "What's your status?"  
  
"We're surrounded!" a voice in the speaker was high-pitched and speaking fast. Misha stopped dead, struck by fear larger than he should have. He had feelings for this Julie, Jensen realized.  
  
"What do you mean?" the leader asked frantically. "What's going on?"  
  
"I don't know. They are coming out of nowhere and there's more and more of them!"  
  
"What happened?" Now Misha addressed Jensen as if he had the answer but he had not. He hadn't even been told what was supposed to happen here, how they were going to proceed. How was he supposed to know what went _not_ according to the plan?  
  
"Are you in trouble?" asked someone coming at them from behind the curve of the corridor. He stopped and leaned against the wall. "Can I help?"  
  
Misha and his men aimed their guns at him immediately but he looked at his palms and started picking at his fingernail. Then he looked up and smiled. "Those guns won't fire," he said matter-of-factly. "Oh, I should introduce myself, how rude of me. Mark Sheppard. Do you remember me, Jensen?"  
  
Jensen remembered now -- Sheppard was a telekinetic, and he was really good at that. They were never friends though. Guys like him, as well as telepaths, thought they were something better than a simple empath. He couldn't read minds, he couldn't move material objects. He couldn't even manipulate human emotions, only read them and act accordingly to the quirks and desires of other people. Guys like Sheppard considered it a weakness. And they were probably right; Jensen was of no use to Jeffrey or Jared. His people, the rebels, were dying. Sounds coming from the radio were now a cacophony of cries and explosions.  
  
"I didn't expect to see you," Shepard spoke. Was it a hint of admirarion in his voice? "Neither telepaths, nor other empaths sensed you. How did you manage to hide from them? Oh, nevermind, it won't change the outcome anyway. Looks like you came straight into a trap." He smiled at Misha smugly then sobered up and his eyed went wide. "Oh my God! You don't think someone betrayed you, do you?"  
  
Misha turned to Jensen and barely restrained himself from shooting him right then and there.  
  
"No-no-no," the stranger laughed and moved away from his wall. He placed a hand on Misha's gun, lowering it. "Don't kill him yet. He had nothing to do with it. He had betrayed _us_." The stranger placed his hand on Jensen's cheek and suddenly Jensen could sense him, his disapproval, his contempt. Not hatred, just deep dislike, as one would feel for a bug. "But you know what he is, don’t you?" The man turned to Misha again and spoke, like to a dumb child. "He can sense your feelings. So, are you really that stupid that you didn't figure out there'd be more of his ilk here? More of a _better_ ilk, actually? Some of us are telepaths, Mr. Collins. We had known about your presence here for weeks. We had known that more of you came in the last two days. We had been prepared and you thought we were too self-confident, arrogant. Seems that this was _your_ sin, not ours."  
  
They were about to die. Strangely enough though, it didn't make Jensen feel scared, or angry. He was as indifferent about it as about anything else. He was of no use to his friends, Jared hated him anyway. He had betrayed the people he'd been trained to serve, he'd betrayed the men he grew up with. What could possibly happen that would make living worthwhile?  
  
Jensen didn't care. He believed Shepard that the guns would not fire; all he needed to do was concentrate on the bullets and it was exactly what he did. Shepard couldn't sense people though, and Jensen could. He grabbed Misha's gun, turned it around and swung the butt of the P-90 into Shepard's skull.  
  
"You were pretty arrogant too," he spat, then thrust the gun back into the hands of dumbfounded Misha. "Let's go. Careful now. I have a vague idea where they all are but I might be wrong."  
  
***  
  
Jared was two steps behind Jake when the youngster nearly knocked the boss off his feet.  
  
"Sir!" Jake shouted breathlessly. "Sir, they failed!"  
  
"It was an ambush!" Samantha joined them, panting. "Julie managed to send a message out, before they took her down. I have to prepare my people, we're going in."  
  
"Wait!" Jeffrey snapped and they all froze. He glared at them until Jared thought his heart would jump out through his throat. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to give that order, but I see we have no choice. Our ultimate goal is to destroy the facility."  
  
"But we have people there," Samantha breathed out and everything in Jared screamed, 'No! No! No!' Jensen was still in there. Yes, other people too, but ... Jensen.  
  
"We'll try to get them out," Jeffrey's words barely got through the roar of blood in Jared's ears. "But we cannot compromise the mission. They were prepared. Samantha, they knew we were here!"  
  
"We took all the precautions--"  
  
"I'm not blaming you! I'm blaming myself for not guessing this sooner. If they are damn telepaths, they must have sensed our presence. At least I haven't told anyone about my plan B. I didn't want to scare the people, and hopefully, if it was only in my head, they hadn't caught it. But once it's set in motion, we'll have to hurry, before they undertake any countermeasures! Are you with me?"  
  
They all nodded. Then Jeffrey started giving orders. Samantha and fifty men were to get inside and get as many men as they could out of there. They had twenty minutes for that. Jim and his people were to start prepping rocket launchers and Malik with his men would plant the bombs outside the facility. It had to vanish from the face of the earth. Jared's head was spinning.  
  
"I want to go with Samantha," he choked out when the other leaders hurried to their tasks.  
  
"No way," Jeffrey snapped, without sparing Jared a look. He was already busy with something Jared didn't even see through the blur in his eyes. But he saw Jeffrey's arm and he grabbed it and turned him around.  
  
"I am going," he seethed. It was crazy. He was crazy, but he couldn’t _not_ go and Jeffrey had to understand ...  
  
"It's about Jensen?" the boss whispered.  
  
"I have to find him."  
  
Jeffrey shook his head, briefly, bit his lips. "I don't want to lose you, boy. But you know, I like you better like this than when you hated him." He grabbed Jared and pulled him close. "That wasn't you and it hurt to watch you consumed by rage. You need to love, that's in your nature." He pushed Jared away enough to look into this eyes. "I hope you'll find him."  
  
Jared hoped for more than that. He hoped they would get back together. As he ran toward Samantha, who was almost ready to march out, someone else grabbed his hand.  
  
"Let me come with you," a girl begged. MacKenzie.  
  
"Sweetheart, I can't. You're not trained--"  
  
"I'm a child of war, Jared. We were graded at drill and combat classes at elementary school and I had straight A's. I know how to shoot a gun and kick ass. And I have to find him just as much as you do, if not more."  
  
Jeffrey didn't want to let him go either, Jared remembered, but he gave in. He nodded.  
  
"Just stick close to me, okay?"  
  
The smile MacKenzie gave him was exactly like Jensen's.  
  
***  
  
He wanted to save them. How ridiculous! All those people in the facility lived by the conviction that they were superior to those outside. For one, because they were psychics. And, perhaps more importantly, because they served a great purpose. Hell, Jensen could still remember how elated he was when he was allowed to meet one of the officers, how honored. They were greater than him and he'd served them and he had been proud of it.  
  
Those had been the good times. So what if he knew now that he'd been brainwashed, beaten and threatened into submission since childchood? So what if he was aware that his happiness and pride back then had been false? It had felt real. He had felt good. Deep inside, he wasn't sure anymore if living outside those cells, in this fabulous real world, was any better. Experiencing real emotions, real love -- it had only brought pain. He wished he could return to that ignorance, that bliss of being unaware of what freedom meant. He didn't want this freedom.  
  
But he couldn't be a happy prisoner anymore either. His eyes had been opened and now the only salvation was in complete destruction.  
  
Oh, he wanted to save Misha, Jeffrey. Jared. Everyone in Morgan's Group. Yes, he wanted to give them freedom, because they knew what to do with it. There was one more person he wanted to save and he struggled to sense him between all the psychics in the building. He knew they started sensing him too, the moment his abilities woke up, like from a dream. But they weren't aware of his main purpose yet and ... there ... he had him.  
  
"This way." Jensen turned around the corner. Straight to the lab. Opened the door and he saw the only man who had ever shown him any human emotions in this wretched place.  
  
Eric.  
  
"Jensen," the scientist gasped.  
  
"We have to go. I'll lead you out of here. I know where they all are, but you have to stay close and we need to hurry."  
  
"What about Julie's team?" Misha asked frantically.  
  
"I don't know. Once we're outside, I'll try to find them, but first I have to get _you_ out."  
  
***  
  
All the guards were involved in the shooting down below, so the rescue party found no resistance getting inside the compound. Samantha ordered them to split up and Jared and Mac, with a group of another fifteen soldiers went after Misha. When they entered the building, they were startled by complete silence. The fighting was happening elsewhere and for an excruciatingly long moment Jared thought that they came too late. That all the fight here, was already over, and their friends were all dead.  
  
But no.  
  
"He's here," MacKenzie whispered. "I know he is."  
  
Oh, how he envied her that ability. How he wished he could be that certain. Instead all he felt was despair and now also fear. The silence was deafening. Only their footsteps and their strained breaths were heard. Jared could tell that all the people around him were just as anxious. Marks was pointing his gun at each corner, then behind them, then ahead. His breath becoming more and more ragged.  
  
Jared wanted to tell him to focus, to quell his panic, but he couldn't help it, his own terror was growing from one minute to another.  
  
And then there were whispers, footsteps, and all his men froze, aiming their guns at a corridor intersection. Someone was coming, Jared's heart hammered in his throat. People. Creeping up.  
  
"Don’t shoot," MacKenzie whispered, but her voice trembled too. "It's Jensen, don't shoot," she begged.  
  
Jared trusted her. Damn, this fear was not natural. What if these were really their people and it was some weird trick, them getting all amped up, ready to shoot their friends, believing they were enemies? They were in the psychics nest, everything was possible.  
  
"Don't shoot!" he repeated Mac's words louder, making it an order. "This is Jared Padalecki. Who's there?" he yelled at the intersection.  
  
"Misha Collins," came a response, voice relieved.  
  
They were safe.  
  
Figures came from behind the corner and Jared would have felt safe, if not for this constant nagging, this forein terror gripping at his throat. He saw Jensen and he registered his surprised look. Jensen didn’t expect Jared to come for him, but how could he not? How could he? Jared had so much to explain. And then Jensen saw Mac and his eyes grew wide with a mixture of shock and joy and then fear...  
  
And then one of his men shrieked, "They're here!" and everyone started shooting all at once and Jared couldn't see in the chaos and he wanted to shoot too, everywhere, anywhere, but he felt small hands pull his gun away and saw Mac screaming something but he couldn't make out words and then she gasped and pressed her hands to her stomach and they turned red so quickly and so inevitably.  
  
And then Jared couldn't see anything anymore.


	22. Chapter 22

The chaos was frightening enough. Jensen knew what to expect the moment he realized that this feeling of despair overwhelming him was too intense to be his own. They were being targeted by minds stronger than any men here could imagine. 

"Eric?" he asked his mentor.

"You have to resist," the scientist realized what was happening even before him. "You can. The others..." he shook his head. They were only humans.

Nonetheless, Jensen told Misha what was happening, he told the men to ignore what their guts were telling them. To just move along, they were close to the exit. When they heard voices and footsteps they became paralyzed with fear again and Jensen couldn't convince them to move. He was frightened himself, even though he vaguely sensed someone friendly out there. Then Jared spoke. Jared of all people came here to find him. 

And when they saw each other, when everything was about to be okay, because they were only a short distance from the exit from the building, their people, both Jared's and Misha's finally succumbed to the telepaths' influence.

They started shooting.

The chaos overwhelmed his mind and all he wanted was to run, to hide, or to shoot a bullet through his brain. But then something happened. A white-hot rod seared through his flesh and Jensen knew it was not him. He was not hurt; it was his sister. The girl with golden hair, who'd come here with Jared. To save him.

He couldn't let her die. The sudden surge of adrenaline forced him to wake up, to dig to the bottom of his potential and pull out all the strength he possessed as an empath.

"Stop shooting!" he screamed and gave so much authority to this command that everyone stopped at once. There were people wounded, more than half of them. "Gather the injured and get out of here!" he ordered. He had to fight them, his brothers who sensed his strength now and tried to counterattack. He was closer to these people though, he could make them obey. "Move! Faster!" 

Jared was the first who started repeating his commands, enforcing them, pushing people. He carried the golden-haired girl in his arms and it took all Jensen's self-control not to run to her, try to lift her himself. Then Misha joined, then more men and struggling, they finally escaped. 

***

The casualties of the mission to destroy the Confederation secret research facility were enormous. Samantha managed to save only five members of Julie's team, losing half of her own people in the struggle. Misha lost half of his people in the friendly fire and five of those who came with Jared were dead as well. Almost everyone was more or less seriously injured. Some of those whose injuries were worse might still die as well.

The facility was destroyed completely and not one of those involved with the research survived. None, except for Jensen's friend and mentor, Eric Kripke, who was now being interrogated by Jeffrey and Nicky. He would tell them everything he knew, or so Jensen assured them.

"He never wanted this," he said, holding MacKenzie's clammy hand. Eric found her for Jensen, he admitted it immediately. He'd found families of a few more boys, but Jensen was the first lucky one to be given the contact. Eric wished he'd have done something sooner, wished he'd helped the others. He regretted that this reunion had to end this badly, but Jensen told him that Mac would get better. He'd make sure of it.

Jared sat with him by her bedside all afternoon. Only when it grew dark, Jensen started talking. "Eric had always felt strange to me," he said. "Like he wasn't entirely loyal. Like he was more afraid of the Confederation than devoted to them. Fear was acceptable though, no reason to denounce him. Shit! I can't believe I was thinking like this."

"You were brainwashed."

"Just. No. Don't. I was, I know and now I'm not and ... You know, back then," he nodded at the ruins of the compound. "I had doubts if it was really worth it. To have my eyes opened, to realize how deeply screwed up I was. If it wouldn't be better to just stay in the dark. Easier."

"Easier? Maybe. Better? Not." Jared was confident about this. Being free, fighting for freedom, even at the cost of his own life. He would do it all over again. Hell, he was going to do it again. They had started something and now, without the Confederation's secret weapon they were all on equal footing. There was no reason to fear them anymore. "C'mon, would you really rather be told how to think, what to feel? Aren't you glad that you can feel what you want?"

"What if those feelings hurt?"

"But they are yours to hurt. It was much worse when we were down there and I was forced to be afraid. And it doesn't matter if it was a bad and unpleasant emotion, because I'd hate as much to be forced to be happy or to love."

"How do you know your feelings are your own now?"

"There's no one out there to influence me anymore."

"Except for me."

Jared fell silent. He totally forgot that Jensen could do that too. But, to Jensen's surprise, he didn't care anymore. Now he knew the reality of feeling something in his own gut and it wasn't the same as when he was in love with Jensen.

"Did you really force me fall in love with you?"

"Did I? I was supposed to, Jared, but I don't know. I think, instead, I made myself fall in love with you. Or perhaps you forced me?"

"I'm not that skilled."

"Oh, you don't know how skilled you are, Jared. How bright, how beautiful."

Jared sat stupefied for a long while. He wasn't sure Jensen really said it. He thought there was nothing more wonderful to hear in the whole world. Then he leaned in to place a soft kiss on Jensen's lips and asked,

"And aren't you glad that you can see that in me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
